Best Kept Secrets
by Amalgam000
Summary: Emily had it all planned: make the sheriff call the BAU to help on a series of murders, while she'd vanish before they even got there so as not to blow her cover. But nothing ever goes as planned.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: The Best Kept Secrets

SUMMARY: Emily had it all planned: make the sheriff call the BAU to help on a series of murders, while she'd vanish before they even got there so as not to blow her cover. But nothing ever goes as planned.

CATEGORY: Hotch/Prentiss Friendship/UST/Angst/AU

RATING: K+

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Criminal Minds, if I did AJC and PB wouldn't have left the show in the first place. But anyways, no infringement intended, this is for entertainment only. Though I guess I do own Martha and Hugh Higgins.

AUTHOR'S NOTES (as of June 2011): This fic is the first part – a prologue of sorts - to a two-part story where Emily decides to try and get her life at the BAU back by going after Doyle again (See my story "Second Wind" for the sequel). I wrote this first part right after "Lauren" first aired, as kind of a therapy for me to deal with Prentiss' departure from the show.

Also, I wasn't a big fan of Seaver at the time (mostly because I felt she was kind of replacing Emily), so I figured that by including her in the story it would help me get used to her.

And lastly, I'm a sucker for romance, but this first story is more about Hotch and Prentiss' friendship (though there are definite hints of deeper feelings) and the emotional issues that Prentiss' leaving has created. The second story is a bit more of a romance.

SPOILERS AND TIMELINE: Set about 7-8 months after 'Lauren' (6x18), so everything up to that point is fair game in terms of spoilers. Aside from 'Lauren' this story also makes some direct references to episodes 'Hanley Waters' (6x20), '52 Pickup' (4x09), 'In Birth and in Death' (3x02), and the Foyet storyline. Stay away if you haven't seen the 2nd half of season 6 and don't want to be spoiled!

**Part 1**

I find a map and draw a straight line  
>Over rivers, farms, and state lines<br>The distance from 'A' to where you'd be  
>It's only finger-lengths that I see<br>I touch the place where I'd find your face  
>My fingers in creases of distant dark places<p>

- Set Fire to the Third Bar – Snow Patrol feat. Martha Wainwright

Emily Prentiss knew what it was like to start over.

Moving around a lot as a kid, following her parents' various postings around the world, she had learned how to blend in any crowd, how to adapt to any new situations, location or people. She was good at it, great even, and with that ability came the expertise at compartmentalizing her emotions and deepest desires. That was who she had grown up to be: a social chameleon who could become what people wanted her to be. And God knew she was good at _that_, so good she had made a living out of it. To Emily psychological profiling only required an acute sense of observation, a strong and somewhat distorted sense of empathy and some notions of psychology, and these things had always been a second nature to her.

And therein lay the problem.

She realized not for the first time that the reason moving on was so hard now was that she had never truly been her own person until she had joined the BAU. She had found herself in that job and within her team. Being a profiler, the master of her own life, part of a team whose members had soon become dear friends, had been a blessing that she hadn't realized she had until it was too late. Just as she had finally truly found herself, she'd had to be lost again.

And that's what had made it so hard to move on now.

It should have been easy, starting over. She was used, even accustomed, to it. Step one: shake thoughts of the past away and don't look back, step two: take a deep breath, and step three: dive head on and thrive on novelty. That was all there was to it. But she couldn't, not now, ironically when it was so vital that she succeed.

Though she had settled into her new life reasonably fast, every once in a while she caught herself missing her old life so much that she couldn't breathe. It was a physical pain that constricted her chest and knotted her stomach, like a blow. It usually snuck up on her in the least expected moment as a random memory passed through her mind. And though it generally passed in a matter of minutes, even seconds, sometimes she found herself unable to get a grip on her emotions that fast and her melancholy lasted longer, making her withdraw into herself for a day or two. The solitary life she had chosen allowed her the privacy she needed to recover, alone in the comfort and quiet of her lake house.

But she didn't have that luxury tonight.

"Emmeline, are you okay, hon'? You've been so quiet all night!"

Realizing someone was talking to her, Emily focused her eyes on the concerned face of her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Higgins, and tried to force a smile. Tried to force some air back into her lungs.

"Yeah! Yeah I'm fine, I was just admiring the beautiful sunset," she replied truthfully as she gestured toward the reflected pinks and yellows on the calm lake surface. "I don't think I could ever tire of looking at it."

"Well come on in, it's getting chilly. Dessert's all out and ready."

Failing to shake away her nostalgia completely, Emily nonetheless managed a smile as she followed Martha in through the screen door. They often exchanged dinner invitations, and tonight Emily had once more enjoyed a wonderful meal with her neighbors. Sheriff Hugh Higgins and his wife Martha were in their mid-60s and wonderfully good people, and Emily thoroughly enjoyed their company and their parental-like concern for her wellbeing.

It was no coincidence that Emily had bought a house next to the sheriff's (though the lake view had been a no-brainer as soon as she'd seen the place) and formed a friendship with his family, though she had never admitted the reasons aloud. There was just a part of her that wouldn't let go of her law enforcement training, and in time as they'd casually started to talk about some of the sheriff's cases over dinner, she had found herself yearning to help in any way she could, providing psychological insight here, legal advice there. Of course she had never said anything about her past, to Hugh and Martha she was only Emmeline Pollard, a French teacher with great but unsuspicious insight into police work and criminal behavior.

As the two women entered the kitchen, they found Hugh standing still, staring at the phone between his hands. Emily immediately recognized his distraught expression. He had a case. A bad one from the looks of it.

"Everything alright, dear?" Martha asked as she settled down at the table and poured some tea into Emily's cup.

Hugh nodded grimly. "There's been another one."

Emily froze just as she was reaching for her cup, and looked up in alarm. "Another murder?"

Hugh nodded. "Laura Wilson, 17."

Emily barely heard Martha send a small prayer skywards as she felt the blood drain from her own face. "I know her," she gulped, "she was in my self-defense class." She shook her head. "Hugh, that's the third murder in the last couple of months, isn't it?" she asked with a frown, though she knew full well how many there had been. And while she was grieved at the news of her student's death, she couldn't help the butterflies that suddenly sprung to life in her stomach at what this meant.

"I'm afraid so. I'm starting to think this is out of my league. This is a population-of-3000 kind of town, I don't know how to deal with a serial killer," he said with a sigh as he walked to the door and put on his jacket.

Emily turned in her chair as she followed his movement through the room. She inhaled and blurted out the one thing that had been at the back of her mind since the second murder, a few weeks ago: "You know, maybe you should contact the FBI." She held her breath, heart pounding erratically, as she waited for his reaction.

He looked surprised. "The FBI? Why would the FBI take an interest in a small town's business? I'm sure they have bigger things to worry about."

"I hear they have a special unit of profilers that deals a lot with serial killers. Maybe you should give them a call?" She shrugged. "You have nothing to lose, right?"

"I don't know, Emy…"

"You're the one who keeps saying you're undermanned, dear," Martha unexpectedly chimed in, "you could use all the help you could get. Even if it's from the Feds," she added with a smirk, playing on the everlasting rivalry between agencies.

Hugh sighed as he grabbed his keys. "I'll think about it," he mumbled, before he gave them a nod and left.

Emily turned back to the table, emotions in turmoil. Calling the BAU was the right thing to do, they were after all the best at dealing with serial killers. But she knew herself; she longed to see her friends again, and she was afraid that she wouldn't be strong enough not to seek them out if they came. The need was so powerful that she had to look down to conceal her expression and focus on eating the piece of pie that had magically appeared in front of her nose.

But she knew it was useless to hope seeing them again. Even if they did decide to come and help, it wasn't safe for them to know she was here, let alone still alive. Theoretically, only Hotch knew that her death was faked, and it broke her heart to think of the pain she must have caused her dearest friends. Garcia, Morgan, Dave, Reid, even Seaver, whom she had gotten to know during the few months she'd spent mentoring her. She had spent too many hours imagining their reaction to her 'death', almost as self-punishment for not being good enough to stop Doyle when she had the chance. In her made-up scenarios, Hotch was angry with her for leaving, but she also imagined that he would be able to rationalize her decision and accept it as the right thing to do. Not knowing that her death was a fake, Dave would empathize and mourn her loss in his quiet, peaceful kind of way, whereas Morgan would beat himself up for not finding her sooner. Reid would probably keep it all inside, confused that she had run away from them when they could have helped. And Garcia… oh dear Garcia!

"Here, dear, have some tea," Martha said suddenly, bringing Emily back to the present, making her realize that she must truly look grief-stricken. Hell, she was, though not for the reasons her neighbor thought.

She cleared her throat and gave a small smile of thanks.

"Hugh can be stubborn," Martha added, "but he knows how to ask for help when he truly needs it." She smiled, "You, girl, have always given him good advice. I'm sure he'll take this one into serious consideration."

Emily smiled. "I'm glad he thinks I can help. I've always been intrigued by police work. When I was a kid I wanted to be a cop when I grew up."

"Is that how you know so much about all this? About the FBI?" Martha asked with an inquisitive expression, and for a second Emily worried that she might suspect something was off, but then shook the thought away and smiled, with a small shrug.

"That, and I watch TV a lot."

* * *

><p>That night Emily prepared a ready-bag. If Hugh followed her advice and actually called the BAU for help, Emily had to leave the area before they got here. She couldn't risk any of them seeing her unexpectedly and blow her cover. Since she had first made her decision, her settling in this quiet little town had always been a temporary arrangement that merely allowed her to recoup and catch her breath until she was ready to fight for her old life back. She had no intention on leaving so soon, though, so her departure from the town would only be for a week or two.<p>

After the whole thing with Doyle, the surgery and her fake death, she had wandered around France for a while, returning to the town in the Alps where her grandfather had retired when she was younger. It wasn't long before she felt restless again though, especially knowing that going back to one of her favorite childhood's spot was risky in the first place. Doyle, who by all accounts thought her dead (again), probably wouldn't come searching for her, instead focusing on finding his son Declan, but Emily couldn't take the chance. So she had moved on and, using one of the fake passports JJ had given her and the money the FBI had transferred out of her accounts, she had flown back to the US, and chosen an unfamiliar, friendly area to start afresh under a new name. Emmeline Pollard was a quieter version of Emily, one who enjoyed simple pleasures and felt at home outdoors – not unlike Emily as a child before her tumultuous teenage years. Emmeline also kept mostly to herself, which was the hardest part for Emily, who found herself truly missing the action and fast pace of big cities. But she had made her choice, and this was the life she would lead. For a while, at least.

She didn't know if she believed in fate, but it was certainly ironic that the area she had chosen for its low criminality now had a serial killer. Ever since the first murder had occurred, Emily had covertly kept tag on what was happening. That first murder hadn't qualified as a crime of passion – though Sheriff Higgins had first classified it as such – and it arose Emily's criminology instincts. However she didn't want to get directly involved, and so only used what little bits of information Hugh gave her when he discussed the cases with her. It wasn't nearly enough to build a profile, especially without visiting the crime scenes and seeing the evidence, but Emily was keeping track of the bigger picture – who the victims were, possible connections between them. The second murder had rung alarm bells in Emily's head, and she had subtly tried to raise Hugh's suspicion about potential connections between the murders. It had worked, but while he was a good cop, he didn't have much experience with dealing with that sort of thing. This would be the perfect opportunity for the BAU to help.

Whatever Hugh's decision though, she had to be ready to leave at a moment's notice if need be, and so she packed everything she needed in her duffel bag, as she had done countless times before. As a BAU profiler, Emily had _always_ had a bag ready. She smiled as she remembered that night Hotch had showed up at her place to convince her to accompany him on a case after she had resigned. His ultimatum had been about a ready-bag, about whether or not she had one ready, and he had been right. _Of course_ he had been right.

Emily felt a painful tug in her chest at the memory. She missed Hotch. She was surprised at actually how much she missed him, his imperturbable presence, driven personality and rare but oh-so-beautiful smiles. She'd always had a somewhat different relationship with him than with the others, probably more as a result of his own careful behavior towards her than from a lack of interest on her part, but she had often wondered, what if? What if they had met in a world where they weren't restricted by their working relationship? Could he ever have seen her in a different, more romantic light? While working under him, Emily had never truly allowed herself to consider the possibility, but the thought had crossed her mind more than once over the years, and admittedly she had been curious. Hotch had always intrigued her, and now that she had no hope of ever acting on her curiosity, the idea taunted her like never before. She wasn't one to settle on regrets or pine for what-ifs, but for some reason, not exploring those potential feelings with Hotch was one of the things she felt she had missed on.

With a resolute sigh, she pushed those useless thoughts away and put her bag under her bed, before deciding to settle for the night. She called her ever-loyal Ambassador – a joyful black and white Boxer mutt she had adopted a while back - who happily jumped up onto the bed next to her, and she settled down and tried to get some sleep.

As per usual, the next morning Emily rose up early for her daily run around the lake. It was a beautiful fall morning, the yellow and orange leaves of the trees turning wonderful shades of golden in the morning sunlight. Ambassador, excited for the outing was close on her heels, and she was just about to leave the yard when she saw Sheriff Higgins's truck pull into his driveway. Not wasting a second, she jogged the short distance that separated their driveways and called out his name when she was close enough.

He waved in response, and walked to meet her halfway.

"Any news?" she asked as she took in his tired expression. He must have been up all night working the case.

He sighed, taking off his hat to scratch his graying head. "I expected it would get easier in time, seeing those crime scenes, but it doesn't."

"Do you think it could be the same killer?"

"Possibly, the team's compiling the evidence as we speak."

Emily bit her tongue, trying to refrain herself from saying too much. But he was at a loss, and she could help! "What about cause of death, was she killed the same way as the others?"

He looked up at her, a little surprised.

"I'm just saying," Emily started again, "if you think they _were_ all killed the same way, you really should contact the FBI."

"Already have."

Emily did a double take. "Oh?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but don't get your hopes up. They said they'd 'look into it and get back to me,'" he said with a little anger. "Look, Emy, I know you're just trying to help, but I don't have time to get stuck in bureaucratic crap. You know as well as I do the Feds won't respond until it's too late and we have another victim on our hands. I ain't waiting for their return call before I act, that's for damn sure."

Emily once more bit her tongue and said nothing, though she was dying to defend her beloved team's reputation. They were _always_ fast.

"I need to catch some sleep before I head back, I'll see you later," he said as he gave her a nod and walked away, disappointment and weariness making his gait slower than usual.

Emily went through her day feeling more distracted than usual. She was teaching French and Spanish a few hours a day at the local schools, which kept most of her days busy. She also taught self-defense three times a week at the community center. Most of her clientele were young women, but she also had a few male teenagers. Lately she had also started advertising for self-defense classes more adapted for older women, who seemed too intimidated to join a younger crew, and so far the response seemed enthusiast enough for her to make it happen. Though it wasn't much, it was her way of protecting the people of the town against dangers she was way too familiar with.

However, Laura Wilson's murder served to show it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. Emily didn't know her very well, but the girl had seemed really sweet and driven. Why her? Emily knew there was always a reason, and sometimes it was as stupid as being unlucky enough to fit the victim profile. It seemed like this was the case here and Emily was starting to wonder about some kind of community center connection. She hadn't known the other two victims, but had heard of them, as they both had been active members of the community, though in different ways. The local schools were really encouraging community involvement with the students, and so there were dozens, if not hundreds, of kids volunteering or working there or through the center for different organizations.

When she got home that night, she hadn't heard back from Hugh or Martha, so she assumed that they didn't have any major news. Before going to bed, she took Ambassador out for a quick walk, enjoying the cool crisp in the air and the cloudless night sky. As she walked back, she noticed car headlights coming up the lane, and assuming it was her neighbors, she walked up to meet them.

She was surprised to see Higgins's deputy Caroline Hills get out of her car and walk in her direction. "Hey Emmeline, they need you at the station."

Emily frowned. "Is everything alright?"

She shrugged slightly. "I don't know. I'm just the messenger. The sheriff tried your cell earlier, but when he didn't get an answer he sent me to check up on you."

"Okay, let me take this crazy beast back inside and I'll be with you in a second," Emily smiled as she called Ambassador and took her inside. Though confused that Hugh would ask her to actually join the investigation, Emily couldn't help the thrill that bubbled in her chest in anticipation. On the way to the station, Emily made small talk with Caroline, whom she had met a bunch of times in town.

If she hadn't been so distracted by Caroline's guy problems, she might not have missed the unmistakable FBI-issued SUV neatly parked in front of the building.

End part 1

Notes: As per usual, I'll try to post this story fairly quickly, so stay tuned…


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

See part 1 for disclaimers and summary

* * *

><p>When Hotch had gotten the call from the local county sheriff, the team had been in the middle of a kidnapping investigation in Iowa. Though technically that meant that they were unavailable to help on another case, Hotch had heard the small amount of despair in the otherwise proud voice of the man. There had been something challenging in his tones, as if he didn't believe the FBI would take his call seriously, and Hotch had been determined to prove him wrong. After discussing it briefly with the team, it was decided that Hotch would take Seaver to northern Minnesota to assess what they might be dealing with, and leave the rest of them in Des Moines until they were available to join them.<p>

So it was that after only a few hours after the sheriff's original call, Hotch and Seaver were entering his station.

"Can I help you?" a deputy asked when he saw them.

"I'm SSA Hotchner, and this is Agent Seaver, with the FBI. We're here to see Sheriff Higgins?"

"Right this way," the young man said as he threw them a curious look before gesturing them to follow him. He knocked on a closed office door, and opened it for them when a voice called to come in.

Hotch nodded his thanks as he stepped into the office, taking in with a sweeping look around the room the 'family-man' kind of decoration and the older man sitting behind a desk. The sheriff looked up as they walked in more fully. "Sheriff Higgins? I'm SSA Hotchner, we spoke on the phone…" Hotch said as he extended his hand.

The sheriff took a couple of seconds of staring before he shook out of his surprise and stood up, shaking Hotch's hand across the desk. "Right, yes. Thank you for coming so quickly, I didn't think…" he cleared his throat.

"Yes, well we understand time is of the essence in most of these cases," Hotch replied, understanding his surprise. It was a reaction they often got, especially from small town law enforcement. Hopefully in time those police officers would understand that the BAU was there to help _anyone_ who asked, not to get involved in flashy cases.

"And we were in the neighborhood. Kinda," Seaver added with a smile. "I'm Agent Seaver."

"Pleased to meet you both, please have a seat. Can I get you anything?"

"Just information on what you have so far," Hotch replied as he took a seat.

The sheriff handed Hotch and Seaver a few files.

"Three murders over the last six weeks, the victims all found on deserted roads."

"Not the same roads?" Seaver asked.

The sheriff shook his head. "All different, in different areas, though the bodies were all found within a 10 mile radius."

Hotch nodded in acknowledgement. "What else makes you think they're connected?" he asked as he perused the files and the coroner's reports on each victim.

"Well, to have one murder in these parts is strange enough, but to have three?" He shook his head. "And although the murder weapon is always different, all three victims died of cut wounds. Emmeline says that's enough to be considered the same MO."

Hotch frowned, but it's Seaver who spoke. "I'm sorry, who?"

"Oh, Emmeline Pollard, she's a neighbor. She seems to know a lot about those things, and she's kinda been helping me since she got here. And now it's personal to her too, the last victim, Laura Wilson, was one of her students."

Hotch exchanged a look with Seaver. That 'friend' was not only connected to one of the victims, but she also interjected herself into the investigation? Seemed like they had their first person of interest. "Does your friend often take an interest in criminal investigations?" Hotch asked.

The sheriff shrugged. "I guess she does, but most of the time I'm the one seeking out her advice. The girl seems to have a gift for police work."

"What can you tell us about her?" Seaver asked, and Hotch winced slightly at the bluntness of her question. Now the sheriff would get defensive.

As predicted, the older man frowned and shifted in his chair. "Why do you want to know? She doesn't have anything to do with this, I assure you. In fact, she's the one who suggested I call you."

"We just like to cover all the bases," Hotch said in reply, trying to reassure him, "it's mostly procedure."

"Well, there's not much to say, really. She's only been here for six or seven months. Moved into the house next to my wife and I last May. Keeps to herself a lot, though it looks like my wife and I have finally gained her trust."

"What makes you think she would have trust issues?" Hotch asked.

The sheriff shifted in his chair again. "Well, this is just conjecture on my part, but sometimes Emmeline gets that terrified look that cornered animals get sometimes, you know, and she never reveals much about herself. My wife thinks she ran away from an abusing boyfriend or husband or something, and doesn't want him to find her. She does have that look of someone who's ready to bolt any second, but like I said, this is pure conjecture."

Hotch nodded at this information. "We'd like to talk to her, do you think you could have her meet with us?" Hotch asked.

Higgins leaned over the desk, resting on his elbow. "Look, I know she might look like a prime suspect to you, but I'd swear on my mother's grave that she has nothing to do with this. She wouldn't hurt a fly. You want to talk to her, sure, go ahead, but not as a suspect. I won't allow that."

Hotch frowned at this, at how emotional the older man was getting. "We don't mean any personal disrespect sir, but until we have a closer look at the victims' files and build a profile, we can't rule out anyone as a suspect. And right now, Miss Pollard has a connection with one of the victims. If anything she'll be able to tell us more about her."

"We're not here to pin this on the first convenient suspect, sir," Seaver added, "we're here to find the truth. And if Miss Pollard really has nothing to do with this, then truth is on her side."

The sheriff looked between the two of them for a couple of seconds, biting his cheek. "Fine, I'll give her a call."

"Good, in the meantime, we'll look at these so we get a better idea of what we're dealing with," Hotch said as he gestured to the files. "Is there anywhere we could set up?"

"Of course, you can use our interrogation room for now."

"We'll also need all the resources you can pull, as you see we are a little undermanned at the moment," Hotch said. "The rest of the team will join us as soon as possible, but in the meantime we'll need your help."

"Of course, anything I or my deputies can do."

Hotch and Seaver set up in the small room, and as Seaver started displaying the files on the table, Hotch picked up his phone. "Garcia, I need you to look up someone for me," he said.

"Of course, awaiting your orders," Garcia replied.

"The name is Emmeline Pollard," Hotch said. "Look for hospital records – possible conjugal abuse."

"Very good, sir, I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Over the next couple of hours, Hotch and Seaver started mapping up ideas on the board, tracing connections between victims and aspects of victimology. The sheriff had been right, the victims had definitely been killed by the same UnSub, and already a profile was starting to emerge from victimology. White male, probably late teens, socially dysfunctional… After a couple of hours, Hotch sent Seaver with one of the sheriff's deputies to talk to the coroner and the victims' families, while he stayed behind to refine the initial profile.

He was so focused on what he was doing that he almost startled when the sheriff knocked on the doorframe and poked his head inside. "Sorry to interrupt Agent Hotchner, you wanted to talk to Emmeline Pollard? She just got here."

"Oh, right, thanks," Hotch said as he dropped the file onto the table and joined the sheriff. Given the more recent profile, he had actually pushed any thought of the sheriff's friend out of his mind and had forgotten he'd asked to interview her. Well, she was here, and her behavior _was_ a little suspicious, so he might as well go with it. Once he'd caught up with Sheriff Higgins, the older man pointed to a woman standing a few feet ahead with her back to them, talking with a couple of deputies.

"Hey Emy, over here," Sheriff Higgins called, making her turn ar-

Hotch's mind went blank as he found himself staring into the beautiful and familiar eyes of Emily Prentiss.

He visibly flinched in shock, his first reflex being to reject the possibility that it could really be her, but there was no mistaking the wide dark eyes, slightly turned-up nose, dark hair and tall, slender figure. She appeared as surprised as he was, her eyes widening in shock and even a little panic. She quickly glanced around, as if to make sure no one was paying attention, as if looking for a way out. Fighting his own shock and unexpected joy at seeing Emily Prentiss safe and sound, standing just a few feet away from him, he released the breath he hadn't realized had been holding and pursed his lips to keep a smile form escaping. Hotch had enough experience with protection programs to know how important it must be for her not to blow her cover, so he put on a grave face before walking to her in a determined stride.

Heart beating fast, he saw her glance towards the door once more as he walked towards her, her eyes pleading. Was she afraid he would blow her cover, or was there something else worrying her?

"Miss Pollard, I'm SSA Hotchner, I'm helping Sheriff Higgins with the investigation," he said calmly, extending his hand once he was standing a couple of feet away and taking the opportunity to take her in, his eyes quickly traveling across her familiar features. She looked good, he noticed. She'd always been a beautiful woman to his eyes, her beauty somehow accentuated by a certain aura of energy, but it suddenly hit him just how beautiful she really was. She was wearing her hair longer again, and it framed her face in a way that reminded him of her early years at the BAU. The memory was more painful that he wanted to admit. She shook his hand loosely and gave an almost shy nod of acknowledgement, playing the stranger game. "May I ask you a few questions?" Hotch asked.

Her eyes still holding his carefully, trying to read his intentions, she nodded. "Yes, of course. Anything I can do to help."

Hotch stood aside and gestured for her to precede him into the interrogation room. He saw her exchange a nod with the sheriff as they passed him, as if to reassure the man that she would be fine and that he didn't need to accompany her.

Hotch closed the door behind them and glanced briefly at the mirror lining one side of the room. He didn't know if the sheriff trusted him enough not to listen in on the conversation, but the possibility of him listening in meant he couldn't risk asking the questions that burnt on his tongue or reuniting with her in the way he really wanted to.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, his phone rang. Hotch looked at Prentiss and held her gaze as he answered. "Go ahead Garcia," he said.

Prentiss' reaction was instantaneous. Up until now her expression had been carefully controlled, wary to the point of being almost fearful, but at the sound of Garcia's name she looked so devastated that Hotch had to look away. When he returned his gaze to her, she was slightly shaking her head no, as if to say 'don't tell her anything'.

"Are you sure you gave me the right name," Garcia said into his ear, "because I couldn't find anything on a Emmeline Pollard, absolutely nothing, nicht, nada! It's like she doesn't exist, at least in the US."

"Yes, never mind that. The profile suggests we're looking for a male. No need to dig deeper for now." In fact everything the sheriff had told them about this woman made sense when you knew about Emily Prentiss: her interest in the investigations, her keeping to herself, and the sheriff's obvious affection for her. She'd always had a way of weaving her way into people's hearts without them realizing. Shaking these thoughts away, he returned his attention to Garcia. "Any news on the rest of the team? Are they still in Iowa?" he asked, in a way letting Prentiss know she didn't need to worry too much about the others finding her here. Though Seaver could be a problem.

"Yes sir, but I hear they're making progress on the suspect list."

"Good, thanks Garcia."

"Of course, but sir, are you sure about that woman? It screams suspiciousness! Don't you want me to dig a little deeper, just in case?"

Hotch smiled. "I'm sure. I'll send you a list of names to look at later."

"Okay, you're the boss, boss. Garcia out."

Snapping his phone shut, Hotch returned his gaze to Prentiss, rubbing his upper lip in indecision about how to handle this. If they _were_ observed through the mirror, then he had to pretend that he still needed to interview her about her implication in the murders. He looked to her to see if she was giving him a hint about how they could proceed, but she was merely sitting quietly at the table, looking up at him patiently. Perfectly acting the role of her alter ego, which, he realized, was the sign he'd been looking for. Making up his mind, he took a seat across from her, his back to the mirror and security camera, so that anyone looking on wouldn't see what he was doing as he took out his note pad.

"You know why I asked you here?" Hotch asked, all business, all the while scribbling down quickly onto his pad, which he turned over for her to read when he was done.

_Are you alright?_

Prentiss fought a smile and gave a small nod, not meeting his eyes. She blinked, and her smile was gone. "Yes, you're investigating the three murders and Sheriff Higgins told you about me helping him." She frowned self-consciously. "He seems to think I have good instincts about those things."

Hotch nodded absent-mindedly, and returned to his pad even as he kept talking. "Yes well, it's also customary that we conduct interviews with people connected to the victims in any way. I understand you knew Laura Wilson, did you know any of the other victims?"

He showed her his pad again_. Should I expect a US Marshall barging in?_

She shook her head, and Hotch frowned. He had always assumed that she would get into WITSEC, so why hadn't she?

"No sir," Prentiss replied to his verbal question, "Laura Wilson was taking my self-defense class at the community center. I didn't know the other girls, though apparently they were also volunteering at the center in one way or another."

Hotch's eyes snapped up to hers at that last part, was she telling him what he thought she was saying?

"What's your interest in the investigation, then?" he said as he returned to writing.

_Noted. We need to make this quick, Seaver might return any moment._

Her eyes widened as she read, and she shifted on her chair. Then she shook her head and leaned closer over the table. "I don't really have any, except that I care about the people here," she replied with feeling. "One of my students was brutally murdered, Agent, it's only natural that I try to help and find the killer, don't you think?"

Hotch stayed silent, letting her act her piece.

"Sheriff Higgins and his wife are my neighbors," she continued, now sounding appropriately defensive, "and every once in a while he'll discuss some of the cases with me. That's how I became involved, I swear, that's all there is to it."

Hotch nodded, then scribbled onto his pad again. _What's your take on the case?_

He could tell she knew what he was really asking: if she had built a profile yet. She shook her head slightly. "He's never really shown me the files or anything like that," she said more calmly, though still sounding like she was continuing her previous tirade. "I actually know very little about the whole thing."

With a subtle hand gesture, she asked for the pad and Hotch slid it over to her.

"But I'd like to help if I could… Here's my phone number, if you need more information… Or something," she added with a sudden coy and suggestive look, which took Hotch aback a little. She was well aware that this kind of thing never actually happened in interrogation rooms – except maybe to Morgan – thank goodness. For most people, the experience of an interrogation was stressful enough that interviewees felt too intimidated or defensive to even think about that. Was she having a little fun at his expense, maybe? Knowing full well that it would make him uncomfortable? Or was that only part of her character? She pushed the pad back towards him with a small smirk that made him narrow his eyes suspiciously.

It read: _White male, late teens-early 20s, slight variation in MO - budding sociopath? Cut wounds = impotent or sadist? No sexual assault. Community center = connection, but how? No trace of sedation or blitz attack: they __trust__ him_

That actually was pretty close to what he and Seaver had discussed earlier, except for the last part. They had assumed the UnSub to be socially awkward, but she was right. The killing method suggested that he was either charismatic or appeared inoffensive to those young women. This wasn't the statistically typical teenage UnSub.

"Very well, that'll be all for the moment, Miss Pollard. Thank you for volunteering to help." He said matter-of-factly, but then paused and purposefully met her eyes. "I hope you'll stay in town, I might have more questions about Laura Wilson later," he said more quietly, holding her gaze, hoping to convince her not to run, as he knew she intended to.

She looked down with a small, sad sigh, and for a brief moment she let go of her Emmeline persona long enough for him to get a glimpse of his friend. And he could tell she wasn't happy. She nodded slightly, though she obviously didn't like the idea. And then Emmeline Pollard was back. It was bewildering.

"Yes, of course," she said, sounding eager to help. She sent him another smile before standing and leaving the room without glancing back.

Hotch watched her go reluctantly, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He was happy to see her, more than he cared to admit, and wished he could talk to her, really talk to her, but he had seen how scared she'd looked when she'd first seen him, and he didn't want to do anything to jeopardize her safety. Would she keep true to her word and stick around? He only half believed she would, and he truly feared that he had just set eyes on Emily Prentiss for the last time.

The thought left him feeling strangely empty.

Hotch was still staring into space, his eyes where she had sat seconds before, when the sheriff entered the room. "That was quick. What do you think?" he asked.

"You were right to trust your instinct," Hotch said simply as he returned his gaze to the files spread out on the table. "Our profile suggests we're looking for a young, white male, late teens, early twenties. The variations in the MO suggest that the UnSub is still experimenting, though he always targets young women of the same physical type. Dark blonde hair, brown eyes, athletic build. There's more, and as soon as Agent Seaver returns, we'll be ready to present it to your officers."

0oo0oo0

It was only around 1:30am that Hotch and the sheriff decided to call it a night. With Garcia's help and some information that Seaver had collected from the victims' families, they were making some progress with victimology, though they had yet to find a real community center connection, as Prentiss had suggested. Hotch had never realized until now how much faster they progressed when the entire team was together. He felt like the whole thing was going exceedingly slow, and was getting frustrated. Could he possibly ask for Prentiss' help…? No, he couldn't ask that of her.

They had asked the sheriff to keep this quiet and not give a press conference yet, so as not to provoke the UnSub to commit another murder before his cooling down period of a couple of weeks. Hopefully this would buy them some more time to find him.

Hotch had tried not to let himself be distracted from the case by his unexpected reunion with Prentiss, but even Seaver had noticed that something was bothering him. She'd asked him a couple of times if there was something wrong with the profile, and he'd lied, giving her the answer she expected. Besides, it wasn't a complete lie, as Hotch knew better than anyone that profiles were always works in progress.

"Do you Agents have a place to sleep?" Higgins asked as they were packing up for the night.

"We have rooms at the motel just out of town," Seaver replied.

The sheriff snorted. "Andy's Inn? The place is a dump. I can't let you stay there!"

Hotch shook his head. "Oh, no that's alright. It'll be perfectly fine-"

"No offense, but have you seen the place? Trust me on this, you'll be better off if you come with me. My wife and I have a small house, but plenty of extra rooms since our sons moved out."

Hotch opened his mouth to protest again, but the sheriff beat him to it. "Besides, my wife wouldn't forgive me if I didn't take you home with me. Call it Minnesota hospitality. We take that seriously around here."

Hotch exchanged a look with Seaver, who looked so hopeful, that he sighed in defeat. It wasn't in his habit to indulge in such a way, but it had been a long day and he figured it couldn't hurt. "Very well. But only for tonight."

Higgins smiled. "Of course," he said with a knowing smile, as if expecting to change their minds.

Hotch and Seaver rode in their SUV and tailed the sheriff through dark meandering roads for a few minutes, until they finally came to a stop. The house was completely dark at this time of night - Higgins's 'unforgiving' wife probably asleep - but the almost full moon shone bright despite gathering clouds, providing some light as they stepped out of the car and followed Higgins to his house. It's only as they walked around the side that Hotch saw the lake at the front, its peaceful ripples reflecting the clear moonlight.

He took a second to appreciate the view and looked around. A light down to his right caught his attention, and he saw the some of the lights were still on in the neighboring house.

"That's Emmeline's place," the sheriff announced, as if reading Hotch's thoughts. And now that he'd mentioned it, Hotch did remember that both Prentiss and the sheriff had said something about being neighbors. Why hadn't he thought about this before taking Seaver so close to her? He pursed his lips at his own thoughtlessness for forgetting that detail. Should he warn Prentiss they were next door, as to avoid any sudden meeting between her and the younger agent? And he did want to talk to her again…

Realizing that he'd stared for too long, he turned towards Higgins and Seaver again, who were waiting for him on the porch. "This is a beautiful spot," Hotch said as he joined them.

"Sure is," the older man agreed as they stepped inside the quiet house. "In forty years I've never tired of it."

Once certain that they were both settled in their respective rooms for the night, the sheriff stopped by to bid Hotch goodnight. Hotch stopped him at the last second, going on an impulse.

"Do you mind if I go out for a quick walk? I'm feeling a little antsy."

Higgins stared at him for a second, as if wondering if he had ulterior motives, but then only said: "Grab a flashlight on your way out, we keep one by the fridge. Lock up behind you when you get back."

"I will."

The sheriff nodded as he threw him another skeptical look, but then left Hotch alone again. Unfastening his tie, he took off his suit jacket and grabbed his fleece from his bag, then quietly made his way outside again.

He wasn't sure what he hoped to accomplish, but the cool night air felt good against his face and in his lungs as he walked down to the lake. Own their own volition, his eyes were drawn to the neighboring house again. Prentiss' house. The light was still on inside, and Hotch debated with himself whether or not he should go and talk to her. On one hand he really should warn her that they were around…

Oh who was he kidding? He knew full well that the only reason he'd decided to take a walk was so he could go knock on her door. There was a lot to talk about, a lot that had been left unsaid between them. Ever since JJ had left, they had all been so busy and strained by their work that they hadn't socialized as a team like they used to. And it felt like ages since he had last had a conversation with her, even before the whole thing with Doyle. And he longed for it now more than ever, now that he had the second chance he never thought he'd have. He wanted to know how she was doing, what she was doing to assure her safety. He wanted to know what had happened with Doyle that had made her disappear again, to the point of faking her death and leaving them – her family - behind. He wanted to know what she planned to do, how she planned to claim her old life back, because surely she would go after Doyle again? Why else would she choose not to sign into the witness protection program? And mostly because he missed her, he hadn't realized how much until today.

Before he realized it his feet had started walking towards the faint lights.

But then he stopped himself, doubt creeping into his mind.

She had made it pretty clear earlier that she wasn't comfortable with him being here, even less coming into contact with her. But then why had she suggested to the sheriff that he call them? Hotch had questions, a lot of questions he was dying to ask her, but what gave him the right to just barge in on her new life and demand answers? One could argue that loyalty, friendship even, entitled him to some explanation. And he half-believed it himself. However, she had made her choice by leaving and as much as he longed to make sure she was okay, part of him felt like an unwelcome intruder. Who was he to bother her in her home in the middle of the night? Perhaps it would be better to just leave her alone, after all she had made clear this was what she wanted the moment she left.

"Hotch?" Seaver's loud whisper coming from the porch startled him out of his thoughts, and her interruption sealed his decision.

He would not disrupt Prentiss' life here.

"Everything okay? The sheriff said you were going for a walk."

Resigned and saddened by his decision, Hotch walked back slowly towards the younger agent. "I just needed some air. It's been a long day."

She smiled a little as she sat down on the steps and tightened her jacket around herself in the chill. "Yes it has. You know, you always manage to surprise me," she said as he joined her, leaning on the handrail leading up to the porch.

"Why's that?"

"I never would have pinned you as a lover of nature kind of guy."

Hotch let his gaze wander to the lake again. "Me neither," he said quietly. "But that doesn't mean I can't appreciate how beautiful or how peaceful it is out here."

She nodded, but remained silent.

After a second, Hotch spoke again. "I'm going back in. We're back to work at 8. Get some sleep, Ashley."

"Good night, sir."

After a restless night of tossing, rushing thoughts and strange dreams, Hotch woke before the sun was up the next morning, so he quickly and quietly took care of his morning routine, getting a shower and shaving before getting dressed. When he got out of his room, the smell of coffee hung in the air, and Hotch made his way to the kitchen, where he found a woman – he assumed Mrs. Higgins – sitting at the table reading the newspaper. Not wanting to startle her, he stomped his feet a little louder and subtly cleared his throat.

She looked up at the noise and smiled in recognition when she saw him. "Oh good morning, you must be Agent Hotchner?" she asked as she stood to shake his hand. "Hugh said you would be up early, so I made some coffee. Tell me, what would you like for breakfast?"

Hotch shook his head, a little uncomfortable with such hospitality. "Oh no, please, don't trouble yourself, I-"

She cut him off. "Don't be silly, you need to eat something. You have important work to do, and you won't do it on an empty stomach," she insisted.

Hotch smiled a little as she pulled out a chair for him to sit, making him feel at least 40 years younger. Deciding that resisting was useless, he took the seat she was offering with a small smile. "Thank you, but really, don't trouble yourself. I'll be happy with a piece of toast and some coffee."

Seaver and the sheriff came down a few minutes later, and Hotch kept to himself as he listened with some amusement to the banter between the sheriff and his wife. Last night as he'd gazed at the lake, he had briefly wondered if he could live the life the sheriff – and Prentiss - lived; find a nice, quiet spot to settle down and raise his son away from evil and a job that took him away most of the time. And this morning, witnessing the comfortable companionship Higgins enjoyed with his wife, he realized he might also be missing out on other simple pleasures by focusing so much on his work. His job had cost him Hayley and his life with her, yet that hadn't been enough to make him reconsider. Being a profiler was more than second nature for him, it was who he was, but this morning he found himself envying someone else's lifestyle for the first time in years.

Once they were all ready, they climbed into their cars and drove back to the station. Hoping to catch a glimpse of Prentiss as they passed her house, he tried to get a better look, but the trees blocked the view from the lane so that he couldn't see anything.

He heaved long sigh as he mentally said his goodbyes.

For a second time.

* * *

><p>End part 2<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

Emily was torn.

Though she had dreamed of it for so long, meeting with Hotch so unexpectedly was a cruel twist of fate, which now made everything harder and more complicated. Her fight or flight instinct was heavily leaning towards flight, and when she returned home after the 'interview' she spent a long time pacing in her living room, debating with herself what to do.

She beat herself up for not leaving that morning, when Hugh had told her he'd made the call. But honestly, she'd at least thought she had another day, or at least that Hugh would tell her he if heard from them again. What a mess!

And _of course_ Hotch had wanted to interrogate her! Hugh had probably told him about her involvement in the investigation, and that she knew one of the victims, which she knew all too well was like a huge neon sign with 'SUSPECT' written all over it. That was why she had hoped to run before they got here, and since she technically didn't exist paperwork-wise, even Garcia wouldn't have been able to track her down. Her plan had been perfect: have Hugh benefit from their expertise, without her even glancing in their direction.

But now it was all messed up. The only silver lining was that the others weren't around, for whatever reason. But still, Hotch knew, and he had asked her to not to leave. Why? He must know that she was only running to protect him and the rest of the team and everyone they cared about! Did he think the chances of anyone finding out about their not-so-random reunion too slim to worry about? Well, Emily wasn't ready to risk it.

She had agreed to stay, but at what cost? How could she be satisfied with talking to him under such false pretense when all she wanted to do was ask him to take her back to Quantico with him and recover her position within the team? Didn't he realize how painful it was for her to have that dream teasingly dangling in front of her nose, but just out of her reach?

Or maybe he just resented her so much that he was doing it on purpose, making her pay back for leaving them behind and causing pain to the people he cared about? Resentful feelings were not beneath him, after all.

But despite her best efforts, Emily couldn't quite buy it. And as much as she wanted to blame this on him, she knew full well that the fault was all hers. _She_ had pushed for Hugh to make the call, _she_ had asked him to bring them here. Now she was paying the price for letting her own desires and fantasies get the best of her.

And to be honest, Hotch hadn't looked mad, as she'd imagined he would. Surprised as hell, yes, but not angry. She had detected his concern for her wellbeing underneath his serious façade and the to-the-point questions he'd scribbled on his note pad. She had also noticed how intensely he had looked at her, as if reassuring himself that she was okay, and it had tugged at Emily's heart. Hotch was always so careful not to show his emotions, especially to his team, that such simple curiosity and caring from his part meant a lot.

He had also been really careful not to blow her cover in any way, which showed her that she could trust him not to risk blowing her pretense.

With a sigh, Emily made her decision. She would stay, but only for another 24 hours. She promised herself she wouldn't seek him out, and would not allow Seaver to see her. If he wanted to talk to her, he'd have to find a way to do it alone.

Satisfied with her resolution, she decided she would call in sick the next morning, which would avoid her running into them in town or at the community center, and after a while she was able to relax a little, but it was hours into the night before she fell asleep.

The next morning, she got ready to go for her usual run, but stopped dead in her tracks when her eyes caught the shiny black SUV parked in her neighbors' driveway. Hurrying back inside, she rushed to the window and tried to have a better look, but the angle was all wrong and she couldn't see much. Of course she was familiar enough with her neighbors' hospitality to imagine how the SUV might have ended up there, but Emily was more surprised by the fact that the ever-professional Agent Hotchner would allow such familiarity. Hugh must have been pretty convincing!

But then she sighed in frustration. Their presence close-by meant she was stuck inside until they left. Hadn't Hotch registered when she'd told him that the sheriff was her neighbor? What did he mean by bringing Seaver so close? Sighing again, she looked at Ambassador who was whining, put out that she wasn't taking her for the promised exercise.

"I know, girl," she said, "we'll just have to wait for a bit."

As it turned out, it was only fifteen minutes or so before she spied Hotch, Seaver and Higgins coming out of the house, get into their cars and drive off. Trying not to think too much about how watching them leave made her feel, she prepared for her run again, and this time went through with it without any unexpected encounters.

She spent the rest of the morning going over her notes for the case, trying to see if she had missed something. Or if she had forgotten to tell Hotch anything that might be useful. She was a little creeped out by the thought that maybe she knew the killer and hadn't recognized him for who he was. But then again, she hadn't been here that long, and she only knew a handful of students old enough to fit the profile, and none of them was overtly suspicious. How she wished she had Garcia's hacking talents so she could look into their backgrounds from afar!

Around noon she was startled from her work by a knock on the door. Quickly gathering her notes, she hid them away and cautiously made her way to the door. Glancing through the peephole, she sighed in relief when she saw it was Martha Higgins.

Emily opened the door with a somewhat surprised smile. "Martha, anything wrong?"

"Oh no, dear! It's just I went to town to run some errands and Jenny told me you called in sick. So I brought you something to eat," she replied as she put a bag into her hands.

"Oh! Thank you, but I'm fine, really," Emily said with a fake stuffed-nose voice as she went back in, inviting Martha to follow her. "Just feeling the beginning of a cold, you know. A little feverish," she lied. Opening the various delicious-smelling tupperwares, Emily's stomach grumbled in hunger. "But this looks delicious, will you eat with me?"

Emily set out to set the table while Martha opened the containers and spread them out onto the table.

"So, the FBI's here," the older woman said conversationally. "I hope they're as good as you say they are and that they can help find the person who killed those poor girls."

Emily looked over her shoulder quickly. "Yeah, me too. Can you believe they interrogated me?" she asked indignantly.

Martha chuckled, shaking her head. "That must have been awful, though I hear you took some interest in a certain agent," she added with a sly, teasing look.

Emily's eyes widened in genuine surprise, and then frowned in confusion. Though she had an inkling where this was coming from… "Wha- what?"

"I know from a reliable source that you gave the man your phone number!" Martha said teasingly, confirming her suspicion that Hugh had been observing the interrogation through the mirror. Good thing Hotch had been careful about not revealing her identity. "That's gutsy, even for a young beautiful woman like you!" She went on. "Though I can't say I blame you… There _is_ something very charismatic about him. A bit too serious, though if you ask me. You can't trust a man who doesn't know how to make fun of himself."

Emily mentally smiled to herself at this description. "You've met him?" she asked as she joined Martha at the table, dying to know how he and Seaver had ended up in their neighbors' house this morning.

She nodded as she served Emily some salad. "This morning. Turns out they had a room at Andy's, but you how that place is, so Hugh convinced them to come and sleep over at the house instead."

Emily's smile widened as she pictured how that unlikely conversation might have gone and what Hugh said to make Hotch agree.

"But enough trying to change the subject," Martha continued, the teasing tone returning to her voice. "Your phone number?"

Emily shook her head in amusement. "The only reason I gave him my phone number was so he could contact me if he had any more questions. That's all," she said resolutely, though it was a bit of a lie. First of all, she hadn't actually given Hotch her phone number, she had only said that as an excuse to write her preliminary profile down onto the pad. But then the opportunity to tease him arose and it was too good to pass, so she'd given him a flirtatious look before she could stop it. As expected he had looked completely confused, and even a little uncomfortable, she remembered with some satisfaction. Not much could make Hotch uncomfortable, but he was more humble than most people expected from his aloof exterior, and Emily knew that he never expected women to take an interest in him, even less to hit on him. And he probably expected it even less coming from her. It had been wickedly entertaining to see his reaction.

"Yes well, my source tells me you were making gooey eyes at him," Martha retorted.

Emily smiled, though she mentally made note to be more careful about how she acted around him. People might interpret their 'silent communication' as some form of romantic interest. "Yes well your source is wrong."

Martha sighed dramatically. "Okay, whatever you say hon'."

Emily started eating, but after a moment she felt Martha's pensive gaze back on her. When she looked up to meet her gaze, the older woman had turned serious. "Maybe you should go for it though. Seriously. He's not wearing a ring. I checked."

Emily's eyes widened, a little surprised by such a statement coming from an overall conservative woman. "What? Why?" she said with a brief, incredulous chuckle.

Martha shrugged a little, but her gaze had turned almost sad as she sighed. "You spend too much time on your own, my dear. I don't mean to meddle in your personal life, but take this as motherly advice if you will. You need to go out and meet new people your own age, girl. Go have fun while you're still young!"

Emily wasn't bothered at all by such a conversation, in fact she was rather touched by Martha's affectionate concern, and not a little amused by the whole idea of Martha encouraging her to seduce Hotch, of all people, but she decided that Emmeline should react differently, so she put on a defensive expression. "And you think hooking up with some random guy from the FBI is the solution to my solitary existence? However attractive he might be I highly doubt it."

Martha, who had leaned closer over the table as she'd spoken, now leaned back into her chair at Emily's defensive tone. "Like I said, it's just a suggestion, Emmeline. A lovely woman like you shouldn't be on her own. But of course it's your life. And it's up to you to decide what you do with it."

Emily gave a firm nod, as if to say 'damn straight'.

After that Martha steered the conversation to a less personal topic so as not to make 'Emmeline' uncomfortable again, and Emily was more than happy to return to her usual self. Martha left almost an hour later, leaving Emily with a heartfelt 'Feel better soon, honey', which left her feeling a little guilty about lying to the best friend she had in this town.

Emily spent the rest of the afternoon busying herself with various tasks around the house that she'd been putting off for days as a means to convince herself that she wasn't waiting for Hotch to show up. Every once in a while her mind would wander back to her earlier conversation with Martha. Though coming from the older woman the whole suggestion of her 'going for it' was amusing in itself, it was even more ludicrous to think that Aaron Hotchner had been the object of that conversation. That man kept his emotions so close to his chest, he would never compromise this thick wall of professionalism for a one-night stand with a woman while on a case.

Or would he?

She had never really known him to do that, but Emily suddenly realized that she was completely foreign to that side of him. After years of working with him, she knew his sharp profiler mind like her own and was all too familiar with his professional, bullying, driven, self. But on the few occasions that Emily had seen him with Hayley before their divorce, he had always astonished her by acting so relaxed and charming. She had also occasionally seen that softer side of him when he was interacting with his son, and she had always found that very intriguing. Obviously many things had happened in the recent years to make him more somber, but Emily was curious to figure out whether a woman could make him livelier again.

Not that she would ever act on this curiosity, besides, he wouldn't allow it, but she entertained herself with those ideas for a while as she kept herself busy. Every once in a while she went back to her notes on the case, but as the afternoon went on she started feeling edgy. The deadline of 24 hours she'd given herself was approaching fast, and she was starting to doubt that Hotch would contact her again. Had she misunderstood him, when she thought he'd asked her to stay? She was dying to call his cell to reassure herself that he hadn't changed his number over the last year, but she had promised herself she would not seek him out. And she was going to stick with that decision.

She was torn between rationalizing that it was better this way anyway, and an irrational but profound disappointment and desire to extend her stay just in case. On one hand, she had to constantly remind herself that staying away from the team was the right thing to do, it was necessary for everyone's safety. So Hotch not following up on her was perfect, it was what she wanted. But on the other hand… She yearned to stay, with every fiber of her being. She wanted to help with the investigation, she wanted to see Hotch and the others again. She wanted to simply be Emily again and stop pretending to be someone else. She wanted Hotch to care enough about her to seek her out again. She wanted… she wanted.

But after a few hours of debating with herself, her brain eventually won over. _Stop acting like a spoiled child_, she scolded herself. Her wanting to stay was nothing but selfishness. No, staying away was the right thing to do. It was safe. It would make moving on easier after Hotch left town again. It would make her quest to gain her old life back even more worthy.

So she proceeded in her usual methodical way to prepare her faintly furnished house for her imminent departure.

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

On the drive back to the station from the sheriff's house that morning, Hotch called Morgan for an update on the case in Iowa. In a way he was hoping that the rest of the team would be done soon so that he could get back-up here to accelerate the investigation, but on the other he knew Prentiss wouldn't want him to risk them finding out about her presence in town. It was definitely a tricky situation that he wasn't entirely sure how to deal with. He hated disguises and those cloak-and-dagger situations.

However he soon found out from a very frustrated Morgan that the team had come to a standstill on their case, as their most promising leads had fallen apart. Though Hotch empathized with the frustration and feeling of powerlessness that Morgan was feeling, he found himself a little relieved that they wouldn't turn up in Minnesota within the next day or so and chance an encounter with Prentiss. With only Seaver present, he could deflect attention from Prentiss' alter ego if she was mentioned, but he wouldn't be able to do that with three, more experienced profilers questioning everything. Emmeline Pollard would look just as suspicious to them as she had to him. So he told Morgan that he and Seaver would manage for now, and to keep him posted of their progress.

As soon as possible, he took Seaver, the sheriff and one of the deputies, with him to the community center. If there was a connection there, as Prentiss had suggested, he was intent on finding it as soon as possible. Once there, he sent all three to ask around some questions while he spoke to the manager, a Mrs. Jennifer Watkins. He soon found out that the center was publicly funded and that the town and the state had multiple integration programs running all at once, with different goals. That meant that a lot of people were involved and even employed, but she eagerly provided him with a list of the paid employees, as well as a list of the organizations that were related in any way with the center. He presented the profile to her, but she quickly confirmed his suspicion that she actually knew very few of the people that passed through the center.

"You know who could help you, though?" she suggested as he was about to leave her office to meet with the others. "Emmeline Pollard."

Hotch stared at her for a second, not knowing whether to be amused or wary. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, she works here you know. Well not today, she's not scheduled today. But she gives self-defense classes here. And my good friends the Higginses always say that she has great insight in that sort of thing."

Though the fact that she actually was employed at the center was new information, Hotch fought back a smile. Prentiss had certainly built a reputation for herself around here. He couldn't say he was much surprised.

"So I've heard," he replied. "Thank you for your help. Give me a call if you think about anything else," he added as he handed her his card.

He met up with Seaver just as she was done talking to a group of teenage girls. "Anything useful?"

She shrugged indecisively. "I gave them the profile, but it didn't ring a bell with any of them." She looked down at her pad. "They were all part of a focus group on environmental issues dealing with local solutions. It's organized through their school. Do you think it's safe to eliminate this organization?"

"Not yet, but definitely keep that in mind."

As he finished his sentence the sheriff and his deputy joined them. "How did it go?" Hotch asked.

The deputy shrugged. "The kids I talked to didn't suspect anyone or anything. But like you suggested, I kept track of what they were doing here. I made a list."

"Good," Hotch acknowledged. "Though I'm starting to think we'll need to be more systematic with our interviews. There are too many opportunities for our UnSub here to count on being lucky. I'll set it up with the manager, you guys keep asking questions."

"Oh Hotch," Seaver added before he turned on his heels. "One more thing. Guess whose name came up again? Emmeline Pollard. Apparently she's involved around here."

The sheriff nodded. "That's right, she teaches some kind of sport or something. But you already said she was clear, didn't you?"

"You did?" Seaver asked, redirecting her surprised gaze at him.

"Yes, I talked to her yesterday," Hotch confirmed, trying to find a way to deflect attention away from her, scolding himself for underestimating Seaver. "She's clear."

"But don't you think we should talk to her if she's employed here?" Seaver pressed.

He understood how she could be confused, not knowing what he knew, but hopefully she wouldn't question his authority too much. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sheriff beat him to it.

"She gave you her phone number, right?" the man said, and Hotch couldn't decide if he was teasing him or sizing him up as a potential romantic interest for his surrogate daughter, "so you don't need me to call or send for her?"

"She did?" Seaver asked incredulously, staring at Hotch with raised eyebrows and wide eyes.

Whatever the reason for the sheriff's comment, Hotch wasn't used to having his private life made public, and he couldn't help feeling a little indignant at such a display. He was also getting a little concerned with Seaver's curiosity about Prentiss' alter ego. Frowning, he gave Seaver a measured, reprimanding stare, and she immediately looked down at her pad. "That's not important now. Let's focus on setting up a place for us to conduct our interviews. Seaver, you're with me, and if you don't mind keeping asking questions, Sheriff?"

The sheriff and his deputy nodded, so Hotch turned on his heels, Seaver close behind.

They spent the rest of day interviewing employees of the center, which allowed them to start scratching off people from the suspect list and gathering information on different young males that could fit the profile. As time went on, one name on the employees' list became strikingly singled out, and once more Seaver mentioned her suspicions about 'Emmeline Pollard'.

"Don't you think it's suspicious that she's not here the day we conduct our interviews?" she asked.

Hotch shrugged but kept focused on his notes. "Not really. Mrs. Watkins gave me a schedule of activities around here and apparently she's not scheduled to work at the center today."

"Why didn't you tell me you interviewed her last night?"

He shrugged again, trying to keep his annoyance with the whole situation under control. "Because she doesn't fit our profile, and so I didn't think it important to mention at the time."

"Well, no offense but she seems pretty important to me. Her name keeps popping up everywhere we look and she's one of the only employees on the list we haven't seen today."

Despite being aware of how important deflecting attention from Prentiss was, Hotch was starting to get frustrated with trying to protect her identity. Why did she have to get so damn involved in this community? Seaver was right, her name was all over the virtual map of interpersonal connections, and Hotch was starting to think that he wouldn't be able to figure this case out without her participating in some way. But how to involve her without Seaver knowing?

Hotch sighed. "Fine. I'll contact her. Maybe she'll be able to add something that didn't seem important last night."

"Are you going to call her?" Seaver asked teasingly, though she was biting her lips to refrain from smiling. "You know, I'm getting more curious about the woman by the minute."

Hotch was about to retort that she was being inappropriate, but was distracted momentarily by the appearance of the sheriff through the door.

"Why don't you both come over tonight for dinner, and you can meet her for yourself," he said.

A little panicked by such an offer, Hotch quickly responded. "I appreciate the hospitality sir, I really do. You and your wife are very kind, but Agent Seaver and I are here to do a job, not to socialize," he added with a pointed look towards Seaver.

The sheriff gave a sharp nod. "Fair enough. You're still welcome to our sons' rooms if you so decide. But anyways, I just came in here to let you know I have to go back to the station. Call me if you need anything."

"Thanks, Sheriff," Hotch replied, then went back to work, carefully ignoring Seaver's gaze on him.

They spent the next few hours interviewing some of the kids, trying to be systematic and eliminate as many as possible with just a few key questions. Their system seemed to work at narrowing down connections, but when they met up with the sheriff back at the station around 7pm that night, there was still a long list of people to go through. They decided on giving a press conference in the morning and risk scaring off the UnSub, maybe the profile would ring a bell with some people.

From the station, Hotch called Garcia and with her help they spent the next couple of hours going over what they had so far, compiling data, digging deeper into some of the "possibles'" background for any violent or antisocial behavior.

Around 10 o'clock, they were all ready to call it a night. Hotch declined the sheriff's lodging offer with a tone that brooked no argument, again thanking for his hospitality the night before. But they couldn't possibly impose again, they would be just fine at the motel.

Hotch had decided on this mostly because going to the motel would allow him the privacy he needed to drive to Prentiss' house. He had told himself that he wouldn't seek Prentiss out again, out of respect for her privacy and incognito situation, but the day's investigation had changed his mind. With the team still away, he needed all the help he could get, and with her connection to the center and her knowledge of the locals, she could be extremely valuable. So his plan was to see her and possibly convince her to join the investigation. She would probably refuse, but at this point he just had to ask. And while staying at her neighbor's house would have afforded a quicker visit, too many people could notice his venturing out at night. And God knew he didn't need any more gossip at their expense.

It was raining cats and dogs when he and Seaver drove to the motel from the station and Hotch was so focused on the road that he didn't even notice Seaver's quietness until she spoke.

"Is there anything wrong, sir?" she asked.

Hotch threw her a quick look. "No, why? _Is_ there something wrong?"

He saw her shrug from the corner of his eye. "I'm not sure. It's just… my instincts tell me that there's something going on, but you..." she seemed to hesitate, as if she didn't want to insult him, but Hotch was pretty sure he could take whatever she would throw at him.

"I what?" he said, his eyes on the road.

"Well, it just feels like you keep every insight you have for yourself, as if you don't trust me, but if you can't trust me, then-"

Hotch threw her another look as she spoke her doubts, softening a little. He hadn't realized that she had been mistaking his own frustration for a lack of confidence in her abilities. "It's not about trust, Ashley," he interrupted. "You've done good work. I realize that I've been a little distracted today, I apologize. But know that I do trust you with the work. That's why I asked you here."

"What, is this a test?"

"No, it's an opportunity for you to work through a case with only one person looking over your shoulder instead of five."

"It is a little challenging sometimes," she acknowledged.

"I know." In fact, Prentiss had been the one to tell him that, years ago, when she had asked him to give Agent Todd a chance to prove herself.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, and Hotch could feel Seaver relax. It seemed like he had satisfied her uneasiness for now. They said their goodnights after getting their keys, then each went their own way to their rooms. The motel room was pretty much like Sheriff Higgins had warned him about, but it would have to do. Hotch waited for half an hour or so, then grabbed his keys and ran back to the SUV, his jacket over his head to protect himself from the rain. Entering the sheriff's address into the GPS, he quickly made his way to the now familiar lane. However the heavy rain and complete darkness of the woods made visibility really bad on the lane, and remembering some pretty sharp turns, he slowed down considerably as he leaned over the steering wheel in an attempt to see better, wipers at their maximum speed.

Cursing under his breath, wondering what he had been thinking to venture out on a night like this, he sighed in relief as he spotted some house lights in the distance.

In that second, something white and fast stepped onto the road just in front of the SUV and he slammed onto the breaks and swerved to the right, pure reflexes kicking in. He was pretty sure he hadn't hit whatever had appeared in front of the car, but he jumped out as soon as the SUV came to a halt and ran to the front, not caring about the rain beating down onto him.

He didn't appear to have hit anything, but then he heard a voice calling out, and thinking someone might be in distress, he called back.

"Who's there?" a female voice responded over the rain, a little warily, and a second later a flashlight hit Hotch's face, making him blink and raise his hand to block it.

"What the- Hotch!"

The light went down and Hotch looked up in recognition, squinting to see none other than Emily Prentiss stepping closer to the SUV headlights, revealing her silhouette clad in a heavy raincoat, hood pulled over her head so he could barely see the surprise in her eyes.

"Prentiss, what are you doing here?" he blurted out in utter surprise, loud enough to cover the noise of the rain in the trees.

She gave a short chuckle. "I live here, remember? I- my dog decided to go for a run," she shouted as she kept staring at him, wide-eyed. "What are _you _doing here?"

Hotch opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment she seemed to realize that he was getting drenched with rainwater and quickly walked up to him. "Let's not just stand out here, here, take my key. The house is just down the road. Let me find Ambassador and I'll meet you there."

Hotch looked at the key she'd put into his hand, then back up at her, feeling drips of water going down his face. "Are you sure you're alright out here alone?" he asked after a second, and he saw her smile briefly before walking past him.

"I'll be fine! Now go before you catch your death. And _please_ make this a covert operation? And Hotch," she added as she turned to look at him, walking backwards, "thanks for not hitting my dog."

* * *

><p>End Part 3<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

It only took a bit more whistling for Ambassador to run back to Emily, all excited by the unauthorized outing. She was generally a very well behaved dog, but every once in a while she forgot herself and ran away for a few minutes. Her decision to do that tonight, just as Emily had been ready to pack her car to leave town, was like karma.

Emily didn't even think about scolding her, all she could think about was the image of Hotch standing there in the rain, water slowly but surely soaking into his hair and suit as he stared at her in surprise at finding her outside. He had come! Just when she had finally accepted the idea that he wouldn't show up, he had appeared out of nowhere. As excited as she was though, she wasn't sure what to expect from him at this point, and so Emily tried to control her bubbling excitement, and by the time she got back to the house, she was perfectly composed again, ready to deal with whatever he had come here to say.

Stepping into the dry house with a relieved sigh, she spotted Hotch standing by the fireplace, just looking around with his hands in his pockets and jacket off. He turned to her at the sound of the door, and gave her a small nod, lips pursed. He seemed to have ruffled his hair in an attempt to dry it and it was standing in all directions, making him look especially un-agent like. The rain had apparently soaked through his jacket, as his shirt was wet at the shoulders and arms.

Emily couldn't help but smile at the picture he was forming as she got Ambassador's towel and dried and cleaned the dog off as best as she could before letting her run off first to Hotch and then to her bed in the corner.

"Would you like a towel?" she asked Hotch as she took off her own raincoat and muddy shoes.

"I'm fine, thanks."

When Emily looked up at him again, he was observing her with a small, amused smile.

"What?" She asked curiously, as she toweled off her own hair and face.

"Nothing," he said with a shake of the head. "I guess I've always pegged you more as a cat person."

That was not what Emily had expected and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it, so she frowned a little as she made her way to the kitchen area. "I guess you're right. But I figured getting a dog would fit Emmeline's personality better. And Ambassador's a great dog to have around."

Hotch nodded, but remained silent, so Emily busied herself with turning on some lights and heat as she moved around. She had turned everything off before, since she had been on the verge of leaving town. But now it gave her an excuse to keep herself busy and keep her bubbling emotions under control. Part of her was so excited about him being there that she had to restrain herself from actually throwing her arms around him in a happy hug, while the other – the cool-headed, chameleon part - reminded her that this was _Hotch_ and that she didn't actually know what he was doing here. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?" she asked.

"No thanks, I won't stay long. I see I caught you just in time. You were leaving?" he asked as he pointed to the two bags sitting by the door, though it sounded more like a statement.

Emily met his gaze briefly from across the room. "I figured if you didn't show up by tonight, it would be best to disappear for a while."

He nodded quietly again, his expression turning pensive. "Does my being here put you in danger?"

"I guess I'm taking a risk," she replied as she put on the kettle. "And you know it's not just me, it's you, too."

He tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"I left to protect you too, all of you."

Hotch started shaking his head, as if to deny the need, but Emily beat him to it. "Ian Doyle is… He's lost it, and he knew you guys were the one thing I was afraid to lose, and he was getting ready to take advantage of it. I couldn't let that happen. I won't."

"I'm sorry," Hotch said simply, but Emily could tell that he meant it. They stayed silent for a while, and as minutes elapsed Emily started sending bemused glances in his direction at his silence.

"Are you going to tell me why you're here?" she asked curiously after a while.

That seemed to throw him off a little, and his head snapped up in her direction, as if she'd disrupted his train of thought. "I, ah…" He rubbed his upper lip for a second, looking almost embarrassed. But then he looked back up with a softer, but still intense expression. "It's good to see you," he said simply, but with an honesty that surprised Emily a little.

Her smile widened as she joined him in the living room and sat on the couch armrest. Looking back up, she made sure she had his attention before speaking. "You too."

He smiled his tiny corner smile in response, as if relieved to know that she _was_ happy to see him. Oh if he only knew! Emily expected him to say more, and so they gazed at each other for a moment, until she realized that there wasn't anything else forthcoming. "But I'm assuming you didn't come all the way out here because you've missed me?" she asked, maybe a tiny bit flippantly, and his gaze seemed to sharpen at her tone.

But then he glanced down, and when he looked back up it was with a serious look that she knew all too well. "I'm here about the case."

Emily nodded. "How is that going? Any progress?"

"Some. As you know, only Seaver's here with me while the others are still working another case in Iowa, and it's not going as fast as I was hoping. We spent the day at the community center and we've managed to eliminate a fair number of people and employees. There is one problem, though."

"What?"

"Your alias comes up a lot and your absence is becoming quite noticeable."

Emily heaved a long sigh as she realized where he was going with this. "Enough to make me look suspicious for Seaver?"

"Definitely. She talked to some of the kids involved in your class and apparently they talk about you a lot. In a good way," he added quickly, making Emily smile a little. "Apparently your reputation goes beyond the boundaries of the police station," he added.

Emily frowned in confusion and surprise at the very light teasing/sarcasm in his tone. "Wait, what reputation?"

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "You don't know? Apparently you're the person to talk to for these "kinds of things"," he said, even giving air quotes to emphasize his point.

Emily didn't know if she was more surprised by his words or by his teasing tone. Was he really teasing her? She wouldn't have expected it from him under the circumstances. "Seriously? All I did was give some advice to Sheriff Higgins!" she said, a little indignantly. "Oh the man is such a gossip!" This, she now remembered, was why she didn't like small towns.

Hotch shrugged. "I can't say I blame them, you always _were_ a great profiler with sharp instincts," he gave her a long look that Emily held in silence, a little awestruck by his behavior. Hotch had always kept her on her toes, surprising her with a joke or a praise when she least expected it, and she realized that she had really missed it, the constant surprise and mystery that was Aaron Hotchner.

"But anyways," he went on, "you can see how this can be a problem. Seaver's wondering why I'm not interviewing you again, the sheriff thinks I've been hiding some romantic interest since you gave me your phone number, and-"

Emily's eyes widened at this. "Oh he _didn't_! He really brought this up with you?" she asked incredulously, not sure whether to laugh or be angry with her friend for being so nosy. Not only had he discussed it with his wife, but he had actually brought it up with _Hotch_?

"I'm afraid so," Hotch replied with raised eyebrows, and Emily could tell that he was a little amused, probably more by her own embarrassment than by the situation. Then he gave a small shrug. "He's just trying to look out for you."

"Yes, I know." She made an apologetic face as she rose to her feet and walked back to the kitchen to take care of the boiling water. "I'm sorry about the phone number thing, I had to find an excuse to use your pad, and that's first the thing that came to mind."

Hotch shook his head with a small shrug. "I perfectly understood what you were doing at the time, and I do still. But you have to admit this is getting a little out of hand."

Emily gave him a curious look from across the room. "What do you suggest? You're here, so I assume you have a plan?"

He bit his lips in concentration as he made his way to the kitchen, and Emily watched him approach with a mix of curiosity, trepidation and dread. She knew that expression. It was his prosecutor-looking-for-a-strategy kind of expression. He stopped when he was a couple of feet away and stared right into her eyes.

"Prentiss, the only plan I have at the moment is to convince you to join the investigation."

Emily held her breath as she held his unflinching gaze, for a moment relishing the idea of working alongside him again. But then the impossibility of the situation sank in, squashing her fantasy with the force of a huge sledgehammer. She lowered her gaze and focused on getting some random tea leaves out of her beverage.

"I'd love to be able to help. Really. But I can't."

"Why?" he replied quickly as if he had expected it, stepping dangerously closer. "What's keeping you in this town? What's keeping you from finishing what you started and-" he stopped himself in mid-sentence, looking almost surprised at his own heartfelt tone. "I understand some of the risks, but do you really think helping on this one, low profile case would make a difference?" he continued.

Emily was a little taken aback by his intensity, so she tore her gaze away and, grabbing her mug, walked back to the living room where she settled on the couch. "As a matter of fact, I do. And you _do_ know why."

He followed her but remained standing, crossing his arms over his chest, the stubborn gesture not lost on her. "I don't think I know as much as you believe. All I truly know is that Doyle escaped, and that you're not in a protection program, however your disappearance was somewhat sanctioned by the FBI and the CIA." He sighed in frustration and rubbed his forehead, as if to assuage a headache. "But that doesn't matter now, I'm not asking you to reveal your identity to the friends you've made here. I just need you on this case, in whatever capacity you deem appropriate."

Oh this was tempting, especially seeing how desperately he seemed to need her help… But that still left one problem. She narrowed her eyes when she finally figured it out. "You want to tell Seaver, don't you?"

"It would make things easier, yes."

"No."

"She's bound to figure it out eventually."

Emily shook her head as she rose from the couch. "That's out of the question, Hotch. I didn't put her on my list for a reason."

He frowned in confusion. "List?"

"The list of people who know the truth."

"It- I was on your list?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I-" Emily realized as she opened her mouth that she didn't have a satisfactory answer to that question. It had just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. She'd wanted _someone_ to know. He was her boss. "I- I don't know," she admitted with a confused frown that seemed to soften his expression. "Would you rather I hadn't?" she asked.

He looked at her for a moment before his eyes quickly darted down and back up again. "Well, since we're having this conversation I think that's irrelevant now, isn't it?"

Emily eyed him carefully for a second, wondering at his avoidance, then nodded weakly. "Yeah, I guess."

"Seaver could handle the truth, you know. She didn't know you as well as the others, she could be more objective, and less likely to tell anyone. And she's kept secrets all her lives. Much like you, apparently."

Emily's eyes widened at this last comment, and she immediately saw in his expression that he hadn't meant to say that last part out loud. Even so, it must have been on his mind for a while for him to just blurt it out.

Hurt and a little angry, she started pacing, just feeling the need to do _something_. "Despite what you might think of me after learning of my past work, I'm not enjoying this, Hotch," she declared with feeling as she threw him a look. "You think I'm enjoying lying to everyone and everybody, all the while berating myself for not finishing it with Doyle when I had the chance? For not being good enough? I'm not having fun, Hotch. I'm not enjoying this at all." She gave him a sad look and turned to walk back to the kitchen, if only to put some distance between them.

He caught her arm in a firm but loose grip before she could walk away, effectively stopping her. She turned back towards him. He looked chastised enough to make her soften her expression a little.

"I know you're not. I'm sorry, I was out of line." He slowly let go of her arm. "What I was trying to say was, I'll vouch for Seaver. I'm certain she would never say anything if you reminded her how important this is to you, and I'll make her stick up to her promise not to tell." He sighed. "I need you on this, Emily."

Oh she knew what he was doing, he was playing on her weaknesses with a mastery that few possessed. But being aware of his tactics didn't make the offer any less tempting. Could she do it? _Should_ she do it? Risk everything she had worked so hard for over the last few months? Though she didn't like the idea of Seaver knowing the truth about her situation, she knew that there was no other way she could help Hotch on the case. She hadn't really realized until tonight that over the last few months she had become a part of the community to the point of various people referring to her in passing. Her main goal in coming here had been to keep to herself and just help here and there. Oh how that had backfired! But helping Hotch possibly meant leaving this place and start afresh somewhere else. Was she ready to do that?

As painful as it was to consider it, she knew deep inside that she was willing to risk it. And maybe if she stayed low profile she wouldn't have to leave again?

Looking up to meet his eyes again, she found him staring at her steadily, patiently waiting.

She sighed. "Fine. I'll do it. I'll help on the case."

He released an almost inaudible sigh.

"You can tell Seaver, just to prepare her," Emily went on. "But I do want to talk to her myself."

"Of course," he agreed. "Is it alright if I bring her here in the morning?"

"I guess, sure. Make it before 9."

He smiled a little, and the simple gesture softened Emily's resolve to be angry with him for being such a bully. "Thank you."

She gave a brief nod, showing that she was still reluctant.

"I better go." He grabbed his jacket. "I'll see you tomorrow then?" he asked as he walked to the door.

Emily sighed. "Yeah."

He gave her a curt nod as his hand grabbed the handle, but just before he stepped through, he looked back at her.

"And despite what you might think," he said, "I _have _missed you."

And on that he was gone.

As soon as the door closed, Emily fell back onto the couch with a deep sigh, emotions in turmoil and for a number of reasons. First, Hotch didn't admit those feelings often, and in all the years she had worked with him, he had but rarely divulged any feeling of fondness directly. Oh she could see that he cared about her and the others, it was always there, present in his fierce protection of them, but he'd always been so careful not to cross any lines. Especially with her. So hearing him say that now just downright broke her heart with how much her leaving must have hurt him. She had underestimated him and the depth of his emotions for his team.

She sighed again as their conversation played again in her head. What had she just gotten herself into? Helping on the case was exactly what she had been hoping to do since the first murder, but the circumstances she would have to work under made everything so much more difficult. Not only was working with Hotch a constant turmoil of bittersweet emotions because of the memories he embodied, but acting the role of her alter ego in public would be difficult, almost as much as trying to keep a cool head and not get too emotionally involved. She had to remind herself that Hotch and Seaver would leave again, and she would have to stay behind. Yes, it would be better not to get too close to this, she decided. From now on she would be professional and keep her distance, especially from Hotch. He knew best how to get to her and with how easily he had convinced her tonight, Emily realized now more than ever how dangerous that man was when he truly wanted something.

Somehow the thought made her smile.

0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0

The next morning, Hotch and Seaver left the motel early and quickly made their way to the station, arriving before the sheriff. Once there, Hotch requested a copy of the security camera footage from his interview with Prentiss, and ushered a confused Seaver into the interrogation room, where he pushed the tape into the monitor and closed the door.

"Hotch, what's going on?" she asked.

"Just watch." And then he pushed the play button.

Hotch stood back a little and observed Seaver's face for a reaction and he saw her frown as soon as Prentiss appeared on the screen. She looked up at him in confusion.

"I don't understand, what's this?"

"This is my interview with Emmeline Pollard two nights ago."

She stared back at the monitor for a moment, and then back at him. "Wait, are you saying that- Is this who I think it is?"

"It is."

"Whoa- wait!" she rose to her feet and crossed her arms over her chest. "Let me get this straight. Are you saying that-" she checked her tone and started again in a whisper. "Are you telling me her death wasn't real?"

"Yes."

"Who else knows about this?" she asked, and Hotch thought he could detect a little anger in her tone. Maybe she wouldn't be as objective as he thought. But it was too late to back up now.

"You're the only one. And Ashley, it's imperative that no one else know about this. I had to tell you because of her part in the investigation, but it's important that whatever happens while we're here, you don't mention ever seeing her, hearing about her. Her safety depends on it. Do we understand each other?"

She nodded slowly, apparently still a little dazed by the news. "Wow. How long have you known it was her?"

"I had no idea she was in this area until we met at the station a couple of nights ago."

"But you knew she was still alive?"

"Yes."

"Is she okay?"

Hotch smiled a little as he stopped the footage and put the tape into his briefcase. "You can ask her yourself. We're on our way to her house."

"Seriously?"

"I guess you're getting your interview with Emmeline Pollard after all."

On their way to Prentiss' house, Seaver was quiet, apparently still taking it all in. Even though she hadn't been as close to Prentiss as the other members of the team, she had spent enough time with her to grieve for her loss, and she had witnessed first hand how her 'death' had affected everyone. Was she angry with Prentiss for letting her friends go through that pain? It had certainly been Hotch's reaction at first.

His way of coping for the first few weeks had been to resent her for letting them trust her and let her in their 'family.' Though sometimes a small part of him still felt betrayed – as evidenced by his sarcastic comment to her the night before – in time he had learned to rationalize her actions and understand her motivations. It hadn't been easy to accept, and in many ways he was still working on it – an ongoing process, he'd told Dave - but he had soon realized that despite being a trained spy in another life, while at the BAU she had never been anything else but their colleague and friend, she had never _pretended_ to be anything else. And that was the only thing that mattered to Hotch.

"Does she know you've told me?" Seaver asked suddenly.

"Yes, I asked for her permission to do so last night."

"Last night?"

Hotch nodded, though for some reason he felt uncomfortable saying that he had gone to see her at her house. "I've asked for her help on the case. With the rest of the team away and her knowledge of the locals, she-"

"You don't have to justify yourself to me, I understand. I think it's a good idea. It's just… a little strange, I suppose. I have so many questions!"

"I know."

She tilted her head and turned to gaze at him for a moment, almost making him uncomfortable. He kept his eyes on the road. "You've missed her," she stated at last. "Maybe even more than the rest of us because you knew the truth."

"She was a friend and a valuable asset of our team," Hotch agreed carefully.

Seaver nodded, though she didn't look entirely satisfied with his answer. She stayed quiet for the remainder of the ride. Thankfully the rain had stopped, but the air was thick with moisture and the sky grey and cloudy. It would probably rain again.

When Hotch parked the SUV in Prentiss' driveway, he suddenly realized that her neighbors would definitely see it on their way to town. Oh well, if they wanted to gossip, then so be it. Hotch led the way to the door, as Seaver seemed a little awkward, and knocked. It didn't take a second before Prentiss' dog started barking, and Hotch suddenly understood why she might have decided on a dog instead of a cat.

A second later, Prentiss was shushing the animal and opening the door. "Hey, come on in," she greeted, her expression grave.

Hotch gave a reassuring look to Seaver as he stood aside to let her in first and she passed him with a weary look.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Prentiss' gave a small – almost shy - smile, as she walked to Seaver. "It's good to see you Ashley!" she said as she gave her a quick hug.

"You too!" Seaver pulled back with a confused chuckle. "I'm sorry, this is a lot to take in."

Prentiss nodded. "Yeah, I know. I know." She took a step back and turned serious again as she looked between the two of them. She looked a little fidgety, her fingers picking at her nails, as if she wasn't quite sure what to do with her hands. Last night she had looked so poised and confident, almost challenging, what had changed? "Are you guys hungry? I know Andy's motel isn't the kind of place where you get room service, so I've made some coffee, and I have muffins and stuff."

"Sure, we'd love some coffee," Hotch replied, hoping to reassure her that as awkward as this was, they were doing fine. It would be fine.

"So Seaver, I assume Hotch told you what's going on?" Prentiss went on as they followed her to the kitchen table.

"Yeah, sort of."

"The important thing is that you can't tell anyone, _anyone_, that I'm here. It's really, really important."

Seaver nodded. "Yeah, I understand. I won't say a thing."

Hotch held her gaze when Prentiss' eyes slid to his at the younger agent's reply.

"Good," she said, her eyes shifting back to Seaver. "So I assume you guys want to talk about the case? What can I do to help?"

Over the next hour or so, Hotch and Seaver brought Prentiss up to date with the case, setting up a board of their own on her kitchen table, amidst coffee mugs, empty plates and muffin crumbs.

She was as sharp as ever, her mind making connections between events and people that neither he nor Seaver had seen. With her knowledge of some of the programs and the people in charge, she was able to dismiss some people as potential suspects and highlighted some others that might have relevant backgrounds. She was the ever professional woman he had known, but there was definitely a certain wariness radiating from her, especially towards him, and it puzzled him. Was it because of some the things he'd said the night before? Was she angry with him?

As they worked, Hotch took the opportunity to observe her undetected. He was trained to notice every behavior detail, and though she had been gone for months now, her personal habits slowly came back to him, making him realize how much he had truly missed her. He had told her that himself the night before, and he had meant it, but it had also been his way to bring home the point that her departure _had _hurt the team, himself included. That she shouldn't underestimate the vacuum and sorrow she'd left behind. But as he observed her now, it dawned on him again how much he had missed the simple things that made her the person they all wished was still around. The way she bit her lip and furrowed her brow in concentration, how her entire face lit up when she made a connection in her head, how she would talk to herself to think problems through, some witty comment always on the tip of her tongue. Even her faint perfume was a reminder of how much he had grown to associate it with her and her vibrant personality. But he was struck again with the fact that she wasn't entirely herself either, something of her vivacity was missing, instead replaced with a business-like attitude devoid of emotional involvement.

It both puzzled and saddened him.

"Hotch?" her voice asked, making him startle out of his thoughts. She was looking at him with some bemusement when he met her eyes, her expression all too familiar. "I said I need to get to work now, but I'm teaching at the center tonight, so I'll investigate for a bit."

"Great, good," Hotch replied, a little flustered at being busted while thinking about her. "How can we reach you if we find out more?"

She bit her cheek for a second, then made up her mind and started writing. "Here's my cell number," she threw him a look, "for real, this time. Call from public phones, and I'll do the same. It's disposable, so I'll get a new one after you're gone."

Hotch took the piece of paper from her fingers and put it in his vest pocket, observing her expression for any clue as to what she meant by that last part. Was she so eager to see them gone again? Or was this a warning that he shouldn't try to contact her again after their case was over? Not finding any clue in her eyes, he nodded. "Do you remember mine or Seaver's in case you find out anything?"

She nodded.

"Thanks for your help," Seaver said as she picked up her things.

"I wish it didn't have to be under these circumstances," Prentiss replied with a sad smile.

"I know, me too," the younger agent replied with one last smile and wave before she turned and walked through the door.

Prentiss turned to Hotch with a serious, expectant look when she realized he wasn't moving. He felt like there was so much to say, so many questions to ask. He frowned as he searched for the right words. "I ah…" Words not coming out, he sighed and met her eyes. "Thanks," he said instead.

She gave an acknowledging nod, her expression serious and distant, and Hotch wondered again if she would spend their entire time together on this case being angry with him for telling Seaver and asking her to work on the case, if this was indeed why she was so distant this morning.

Finally shifting on his feet, he tore his gaze away from hers and gave her a quick nod of acknowledgement. "Be careful," he said in parting as he turned on his heels.

She let out a wry chuckle. "Yeah."

Just as he was reaching for the door, he stopped and spun on his heels. "Prentiss you could have said no."

"I know," she acknowledged simply, though her brows furrowed a little.

Not getting anything out of this, he turned again and walked out, meeting with Seaver in the SUV, feeling a little frustrated both at Prentiss for acting so distant when he'd hoped to reunite with the friendly woman he knew, and at himself for letting it bother him.

He and Seaver kept quiet for a while as he drove, both lost in thought. He had no idea what Seaver was thinking, but for his part he was still trying to account for Prentiss' guarded behavior towards him. He knew that his being her boss had prevented them from establishing the kind of friendship she had created with the rest of the team, so she had never truly been as animated around him as with the others, but her behavior now was different than the mere professionalism that had characterized their relationship in the past. It was like she was trying to detach herself from the situation, especially the people, while still enjoying the investigative aspect of the work.

Was this her way of building an emotional wall between them? Was she trying to protect herself? She _had_ looked shaken when they had first unexpectedly met at the station, but during his impromptu visit the night before her behavior had been completely different. She had been poised and curious, and had even seemed genuinely happy to see him. That is, until he had tried to convince her that telling Seaver was the right thing to do.

Had he pushed her too far in asking her to join the investigation? But he knew that he wouldn't have been able to convince her if she had already made up her mind not to. As much as he wished he could congratulate himself for his persuasion talents, he knew full well that no one made Emily Prentiss do something she didn't want to do. So her behavior couldn't fully be explained by anger for trying to pull her into the investigation against her will.

"She didn't ask about the others," Seaver suddenly spoke, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry?"

"Prentiss. She didn't ask how the rest of the team is doing," she repeated, looking a little disturbed by the idea.

Hotch sighed. He had noticed as well. Another sign of self-preservation? It was the only thing that made sense. He knew how much she had cared for the team. She had sacrificed her life at the BAU to protect them.

"As hard as her loss has been for us, remember that it can't be easy for her either," Hotch replied. "She's lost a lot as well and she might still be grieving. Just like we are, in a lot of ways."

"Is she ever going to try to get her life back?" she asked, this time in a sad tone.

"I don't know."

"Would you take her back if she did?"

He threw her a quick look. "If it were up to me, in a heartbeat."

She nodded a little pensively. "Maybe you need to tell her that."

* * *

><p>End part 4<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

Once back at the police station, Hotch pushed any thought of Prentiss out of his mind. He had a job to do and he needed to focus on the case. She was tremendously helpful, but her presence had shifted the attention away from the UnSub, and Hotch couldn't let that distract him anymore. He quietly told Seaver the same, asking her to put the case before anything else. She seemed to understand.

He called Morgan again, keeping track of their progress. Things were looking up again in Iowa, as Morgan thought they were back on the right track. They had two suspects in custody. Hotch had to hurry.

He gave a press conference soon after his call, delivering the profile to the media and urging young women to be especially careful. He didn't mention the community center yet so as to allow Prentiss to work her magic at work. However they had all agreed that the UnSub was probably a confident young man, so Hotch subtly gave the impression that the FBI admired him, hoping that if he saw this he wouldn't resist boasting of it to someone. It was a long shot, and risky for potential victims, but Hotch was starting to feel the pressure to find a strong lead. For one Prentiss seemed to be eager to see them gone so she could move on again, while he was eager to be done before the rest of the team was available again to join them up here. If it ever came to that he would give Prentiss a fair warning to allow her some time to leave - if that was what she wanted - but it would make everyone's life easier if they could solve this case beforehand. And he always got a little antsy when he spent more than a couple of days without seeing Jack, and it had now been five days. The daily phone calls were not enough.

Sheriff Higgins joined them both again as they went over Prentiss' updated list with Garcia, checking backgrounds and potential alibis, hoping to eliminate as many before actually seeking suspects out.

The sheriff didn't mention anything about their presence at Prentiss' house that morning, so Hotch was hopeful that he either hadn't noticed the SUV, had forgotten his earlier gossiping or that he respected Hotch's statement that they weren't here to socialize. Whatever the case, all three of them spent the next couple of hours entirely focused on what they were doing, while a couple of deputies screened phone calls from the hotline. With Garcia's help the updated list was shrinking quickly, and at last Hotch felt like they were going somewhere. By mid-afternoon they were down to five persons of interest who could fit the profile, among which two were actually enrolled in Prentiss' self-defense class, which alarmed him a little.

Using the police station phone, he called her cell but sighed in frustration when it went to voicemail. He left a message nonetheless, giving her the five names and their background bottom lines. He knew (now more than ever) she could take care of herself, but once more he couldn't stop himself from urging that she be careful.

When he'd said that this morning, she had laughed derisively, as if she didn't care about her safety anymore. Or was it that nothing quite compared to the fear that Doyle had instilled in her when he'd come after her? That after what she'd gone through some college kid couldn't possibly be as threatening to her life? It was dangerous to underestimate any UnSubs, but…

Hotch could definitely relate to her feelings. After Foyet had stabbed and taken his family away from him, everything else had felt trivial to Hotch for a while. According to Morgan's reports, he had acted recklessly a number of times, and in truth it had been one of the ways he'd found to cope. Powerless to help his family, he'd taken bold action to help others, sometimes to the perils of his own life.

He had yet seen Prentiss act in such a way, except when taking ruthless action against Doyle himself to protect _her_ family. But hopefully she wouldn't act recklessly with _this_ UnSub. By reminding her to be careful, Hotch was hoping to remind her that people still cared about her.

It frustrated him that he couldn't deliver the message directly, especially since it gave him no confirmation that she'd get the message before her classes.

But then he made up his mind.

He asked the sheriff to designate some of his deputies and local police to apprehend the three suspects based on Garcia's findings while he took Seaver back to the community center again in the hopes of getting to the two other suspects before they got to Prentiss' class.

0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0

Emily found herself extremely distracted at work that day.

Fortunately, both her French and Spanish high school classes that day required little presence of mind, as she asked the students to try to converse between themselves based on what they'd learned earlier during the week.

Her mind kept going back to the agents' morning visit and how torn Emily had been between happily jumping up and down at working with them once more, and staying cool-headed enough not to get too involved. It had been extremely difficult to stay focused on the case and not ask tons of questions, or provide answers to the unvoiced ones in Hotch's eyes.

Oh she had been well aware of his scrutiny, though she wasn't entirely sure what had prompted it. Curiosity? Some kind of supervisory motivation, making sure she still knew how to do the job? Joy to see her? She didn't know, but it had taken all she had not to react to his almost constant gaze on her.

Something about what he'd said before leaving, about her being able to refuse joining them on the case if she wanted to, had her a little puzzled. It had come out of his mouth on impulse (that spoke a lot in itself) but his tone had also been heartfelt, almost guilty, but guilty of what? Was he regretting asking her to join the investigation after all? Whatever the case, her reply hadn't given him any satisfaction, as he had left with obvious frustration, leaving Emily dumbfounded and a little heavy-hearted.

Still, she tried to convince herself that this was what she wanted.

She needed to stay strong just for a little longer until they left again. She repeatedly told herself that once they were gone it would get easier again. Oh she knew deep down that nothing could make this easy, but she had to try. For their sake. She had to stay strong for their sake.

After classes were over at 4pm that afternoon, she quickly checked her cell phone, and sure enough she had a message from Hotch, giving her names of interest, and warning her that two of them were enrolled in her classes. Emily mentally kicked herself when she heard the names and their backgrounds: how could she not have suspected them?

But then she couldn't swallow the lump stuck in her throat as she heard his plea, in a much quieter voice, to be careful. Oh Hotch… She realized that she had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone care for her and that in itself broke her heart. If it weren't for her neighbors, she might have totally forgotten.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her stuff and drove to the community center. Her usual routine was to go home in between work and the self-defense classes, which started at 6:30, but she decided to go there directly instead and start asking questions about those two boys.

One of them was younger at fifteen than the anticipated profile, though they all knew that age was always particularly difficult to predict. Reed Jenks had always looked like a confident and happy teenage boy, at least as confident as one could be as a teenager, but now Emily remembered some instances of him looking funny at some of the girls in the class, or sometimes enjoying playing the perpetrator a little too much when they were practicing defense moves in pairs. She had attributed it to teenage hormones, but she could definitely see him as a potential suspect.

The other one, Charlie Kavanov, was older and had everything of a stereotypical jock: he was attractive, had a pretty girlfriend, and arrogance in loads. Emily had always thought him kind of a jerk, especially towards the girls, but then again, she had attributed it to his so-called success and popularity.

She had never thought of suspecting them because she hadn't known their backgrounds. But thanks to Garcia and Hotch, she now knew that both had troubling childhoods, involving sexual and/or physical abuse, and for Charlie the loss of his mother when he was six.

Emily wasn't quite surprised to see the black SUB parked near the center entrance. Grabbing her bags, she prepared herself to play her Emmeline act as she went in. She greeted some people in passing, but her eyes were searching for any signs of Hotch or Seaver. It's only when she got closer to the ladies' locker room that she spotted them chatting with a couple of female students. She immediately noticed that Hotch had changed from his usual suit and tie to a less conspicuous attire – jeans and a fleece sweater. He was trying to look less intimidating, probably to make the students more open to talk to him, but the effect was seriously hampered by how it directed attention to his gun at his waist instead.

He spotted her almost as soon as she did him and she held his gaze for a second, subtly showing him her phone and giving him a nod, confirming that she had gotten his message. He returned his attention to his conversation and Emily continued into the ladies' locker room to change.

The locker room was empty, so Emily quickly transferred her gun from her briefcase to her gym bag, which she took with her when she was done. Hotch and Seaver were still there when she got out a few minutes later, but this time they were accompanied by Sheriff Higgins. Hotch and Seaver knew that she couldn't be associated with them, and therefore that they should have as little public contact as possible, but Hugh didn't know that. Emily sighed when he waved her over and she pretended to be surprised as she made her way towards them.

She smiled. "Sheriff, Agent Hotchner, nice to see you again," she greeted, then turned to Seaver. "Emmeline Pollard," she introduced herself.

"Agent Seaver," the younger agent replied and Emily shook her hand briefly.

"How are you doing, kid? Martha said you had a cold yesterday," Hugh asked, and Emily almost rolled her eyes.

She dismissed it with a hand gesture. "Oh it was nothing. Probably just late-season allergies. Had them confused with something else. I'm all good now." She made a point of looking at her watch. "I have to run now," she said as she started walking backwards, "but I'm curious to know how the case is going. Maybe we can all have dinner or something later? Anyway, I'll talk to you later!"

Emily turned around and resumed her walk towards the work-out gyms, but to her utter surprise Hotch quickly caught up with her and fell in step with her.

"What are you doing?" Emily asked quietly as they walked.

"The sheriff's already spread the rumor that we have a romantic connection, might as well use it to our advantage," he replied as he gazed down at her, a hint of amusement softening his stare.

Emily found herself blushing a little both at his words and gaze, though she knew full well that he was only being strategic.

"The other suspects have alibis," he continued, "try to make your two suspects talk. We'll listen in," he said as he stopped her with feather light touch on her arm, his fingers then sliding down to hers, where he dropped something. An ear bug.

Emily mentally shook herself from the goosebumps his light touch had provoked on her arm and smiled up at him, playing the game, before squeezing his fingers a little and resuming her walk. This time Hotch stayed behind, and Emily thought it would be appropriate to look back at him. To her surprise, he was still standing where she'd left him, gazing after her almost wistfully. Act or not, the look was intimate enough to set free dozens of butterflies in her stomach.

She mentally kicked herself for letting herself be distracted by simple touches and looks. Maybe Martha was right, maybe she had been by herself for too long.

Shaking those thoughts away, she forced herself to focus, then entered the dojo-like room she used for her class.

She was early by any standards, so none of her students had arrived yet. She paced impatiently as she waited. Her plan in coming here early had not taken into account that Hotch and Seaver would already be here doing what she had planned to do: asking more questions. She was glad for the backup, but felt a little useless, just waiting.

Her patience finally paid off when 20 minutes or so before her first class one of her students came in, looking surprised to find Emily already there. Emily recognized her as Charlie Kavanov's girlfriend. Perfect.

She greeted her and busied herself with checking up some of the equipment while she started asking questions, by all accounts just making small talk.

"So Julie, you've never told why you decided to take this class?"

The young woman shrugged, but Emily could detect some self-consciousness in how she held herself. "Oh, you know, I just thought it would be cool. Plus you never know when it could come in handy, right?" She frowned. "Especially after what happened to Laura and the other girls."

Emily nodded. "How well did you know Laura?"

"Just a little. We were in some of the same classes in high school, but we never were best friends or anything." She smiled a little sadly. "She used to have a crush on Charlie."

"Charlie? As in your boyfriend Charlie? Wow. What happened?"

Julie shrugged a little again, though she still wore a sad look. "Nothing, really. It was just a crush. And Charlie says he wasn't interested. I believe him."

Interesting. Emily smiled in acknowledgement as she moved around the room. Small talk, she reminded herself. "How long have you two been dating?" she asked conversationally.

"Almost three years. But I've known him almost all my life."

Emily smiled. "Charlie's kind of a popular guy, isn't he?" She asked. "I don't know how jocks can deal with that. I guess most of them like the attention, right?"

"I guess. I mean he enjoys it, but he's actually a quiet guy when you really know him."

Emily nodded as she left the equipment alone and went to sit next to her on the side bench. "Julie, can I ask you a private question?"

"Ah, ok?" she replied with a little dread.

"Did you enroll in this class because of Charlie? Has he ever done anything to frighten you, or try to control you in any way?"

"What? Oh no! No, absolutely not! Charlie's a sweet guy! He had it rough as a kid and he likes to pretend that he's all big and tough, but it's all fake. He's actually very sweet and kind!" she said without any hesitation, and Emily held her gaze for a second, trying to see if she was hiding anything. It looked like she was telling the truth. The fact that she knew about his childhood was also a good sign that they were having a healthy relationship and that Charlie had learned to deal with his past.

Emily nodded. "Okay. Good. Did he enroll in the class to be with you?"

Julie smiled fondly. "Isn't that cute?"

Emily let out a brief chuckle as she rose to her feet. "Sure. So how have you been enjoying the class?"

A few minutes later other students started to arrive, and Emily kept an eye on Charlie as he made his way to Julie's side. They conversed a little, shared a joke that had them both chuckling, and Emily was satisfied for the moment. If Hotch still wanted to talk to him later, he could apprehend him after the class.

She moved on to her next suspect: Reed Jenks. She started to get suspicious when the clock hit 6:30 and he wasn't there yet. Knowing that Hotch was listening in, she asked the class whether they'd seen him, but no one had seen him that day. Emily started the class as per usual, and ten minutes into the lesson Reed walked in, looking edgy as he kept glancing back towards the door, as if expecting someone to follow him in. Two FBI agents, maybe?

Emily pretended not to pay any attention except to greet him with a nod, but she kept her focus on him for the duration of the class. He was sweating profusely when there was no physical reason to and had trouble focusing, mimicking some of the moves sloppily. His partner for the day, a young woman called Renee, kept complaining that he wasn't doing the moves right and Emily had to intervene a couple of times as Renee was getting frustrated, and Reed angry.

At the end of class, as everyone were cooling down drinking water or gathering their things, Emily approached him as he sat on the bench, again appearing as if she was making small talk as she grabbed her water bottle from her bag. "Everything okay Reed?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, not quite meeting her eye.

"You just seemed a little out of it today."

He shrugged, but his eyes quickly darted towards the door. "So what?"

Argh, teenagers. Emily shook her head. "No reason. You're just usually so into it… Hey, you know what I just realized? I've never even asked you why you're taking the class?"

He shrugged again. "There was no karate."

Emily smiled. "So you took my class instead? Cool. Have you been learning stuff?"

That seemed to pique his interest as he stood and gave her a small smile. "Yeah, it's been pretty useful." At Emily's persistent stare, he shrugged. "Bullies at school."

She smiled. "Kicked their butts, huh? Good, I'm glad it's been useful for you. How old are you, Reed?"

"15," he said, and Emily could tell that he was starting to relax a little. Good.

"Really? You look at least 18 to me. Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked a little teasingly, trying not to raise his suspicion that she was really conducting an interview.

He looked away at that and his nervousness returned a little as he crossed his arms across his chest. "Why do you care?" Emily sighed mentally. He was so guarded, she wasn't sure he would tell her anything.

She shrugged. "No reason, just curious I guess. I suppose I miss that time a bit, with all those high school romance intrigues… Do you plan on going to college when the time comes?" she asked as she packed her bag and started walking with him towards the door. He hesitated before going through and Emily stopped with him, as if simply pursuing their conversation.

"Maybe."

"Yeah? What would you like to do when you're older?"

He shrugged, but once more wouldn't meet her eyes. "I like to write."

"That's cool, a genre in particular?" she asked, hoping that Hotch had already dispatched some people to search his house and room for any convicting material.

"Just prose, I guess."

"Wow, see I could never do that. I would never have any idea what to write about. How do you get your ideas?"

"Just life. Especially the bad times."

Emily nodded, though she was thrilled that he seemed to open up a little. "I guess we all have our ups and downs, don't we. What makes you happy, apart from writing?"

He smiled to himself, as if sharing a private joke with himself, and Emily thought she could perceive a little glint in his eyes, if only for a second. "I like to hunt. My uncle taught me when I was a kid."

"Yeah? Again, I don't know how you can do it, I would never be able to shoot an animal."

"Oh I don't use a gun. I use traps mostly, and knives."

"Really? Do you, like, go on rounds and set up your traps and then come back a few days later?"

"Yeah, my dad has a four-wheeler and sometimes he lets me use it and stuff."

"I bet those are fun to drive! And I bet you can carry a lot of stuff on them too."

He shrugged. "It's good enough for now, I guess."

Emily nodded, registering how he could have used the ATV to drop the bodies all over town, all the while mentally looking for another line of questioning that would make him tell her more. Should she just leave the formal interrogation to Hotch? By how nervous he looked earlier, Emily was pretty sure it wouldn't take much to actually intimidate him, and God knew Hotch was good at _that_. But then again, she seemed to be establishing some kind of rapport that could be helpful in making him reveal a bit more.

She opened the door and walked out into the corridor, waiting for him to follow her.

"Do you hunt with your friends?" she asked, noticing that he kept glancing around furtively, once more looking for someone. Emily looked around, but there was no sign of Hotch or Seaver, or anybody else for that matter, so she assumed that they wanted her to keep doing the talking.

"Sometimes. But I usually have my sister come with me."

"Oh I didn't know you have a sister. Older or younger?" Emily was a little dumbfounded by this, as Hotch hadn't mentioned that he had a sibling.

"Older."

"It's nice of her to go with you."

"Yeah, she's the best."

Up until now, no sound had come out of her ear bug and she'd assumed that it was only a microphone. So she startled a little when Hotch's voice resonated in her ear.

"Emmeline, his sister died in a car accident last June," he said, the use of her alter ego's name telling her this wasn't a private conversation. "That must be the stresser. According to her photo, she looked just like the victims. Keep stalling, we're coming in."

"It's great that you get along," Emily went on, unfazed, "my older sister didn't want anything to do with me when I was your age," she made up, again trying to make him feel comfortable.

"Yeah, my sister's always been there for me, especially when I was a kid, you know?"

Had she protected him from his abusive father before her mother remarried?

"That's great. I wish I had something like that with my sister too."

At that moment he looked up and stopped walking, and as Emily followed his gaze her eyes fell on Hotch, who was walking determinedly towards them, the sheriff flanking his side.

Reed looked behind him, as if looking for a way to run, but Seaver and a deputy was coming from that way.

He looked at Emily in pure indecision for a second, and Emily saw the desperation and fear of being cornered in his eyes, and at that moment she knew what he intended to do. He reached for her as his other hand went for his pocket knife, but Emily had predicted his move – she _was _the self-defense prof after all – and was able to thwart his move by grabbing his wrist and in a swift move twist his arm behind his back. He yelped and dropped the knife, but Emily held on.

Looking up, she saw Hotch and the sheriff running towards them, with both of their guns drawn out and ready to shoot. Reed tried to squirm out of her grip, but Emily tightened her hold. "Reed, they can help you. I promise," she said for his ears only. It didn't seem to help much as he struggled again. Though he was taller than she was, he was of a slighter build and had not spent the last few months training for an eventual fight with Ian Doyle, and so Emily had little trouble immobilizing him until the two men reached them, then Seaver and the deputy.

The sheriff grabbed and handcuffed Reed, then dragged him away, flanked by Seaver on one side and the deputy on the other. Emily let out a sigh after Reed sent her a half-despising half-afraid look over his shoulder.

"Good work," Hotch said at her side, startling her.

Emily nodded her thanks, but looked down when reality sank in and she thought about what catching Reed actually meant. Hotch and Seaver would leave again.

Hotch seemed to sense and even share her sudden downcast mood as he didn't quite meet her eyes when she looked back up. He cleared his throat. "The sheriff's asked me to help with Reed's interrogation," he informed her. "I should probably go."

Emily nodded. "Good. He's a good cop, but he could use some guidance on how to deal with someone like Reed."

He nodded, then tilted his head to look at her seriously, openly. Emily held her breath. "Seaver and I don't plan on leaving until later tonight… if you want to talk," he offered quietly, sincerely, and his sudden vulnerability melted Emily's heart.

Oh how she wanted to take him on his offer! But should she? She replied with a non-committal nod. "Do you mind if I observe the interview?"

"Of course. I didn't dare suggest it in case you thought it inappropriate." He shook his head with a small smile. "Emily, if it were up to me you wouldn't be observing from afar, you'd be conducting the interview. You've earned it."

Emily smiled thinly at his quiet but purposeful use of her name and at his acknowledgement of her work. "Thanks. I'd like to change first, so I'll meet you there?"

He nodded, gazed at her for a second, then turned on his heels with a small parting smile. He hadn't walked three steps before he spun towards her again. "You _will _meet me there, right?" he asked with a frown, and Emily's smile widened a little. It was kind of sweet that he wanted to make sure she didn't just vanish again, as if he didn't want to part from her just like that.

"Yeah," she confirmed with a nod. How could she want to skip the chance to really say goodbye this time? "Yeah, I'll be there."

* * *

><p>End part 5<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

Hotch conducted Reed Jenks' interview mostly on his own, as the sheriff preferred to stay quiet or focus on keeping Reed's mother from intervening too much, while Reed's step-father, Seaver and - he kind of hoped – Prentiss observed from the other side of the mirror.

It didn't take much to make Reed start talking about his sister; he'd clearly adored and relied on her when she was living, but he was also deeply angry with her for leaving him behind in death. In his rage he'd targeted young women who were similar to her in many ways, though the fact that his sister was the trigger explained why there had been no sexual assault on the victims. His rage had not come from sexual compulsions, but from a deep feeling of betrayal and abandonment.

After some emotional and alternating moments of pure fury, wallowing in self-pity and quiet crying, he eventually confessed to killing the three girls.

He was obviously a very troubled kid, and Hotch felt emotionally drained when he exited the interrogation room and entered the observation room. He was a little relieved to find Prentiss there, her hand on Reed's stepfather's shoulder.

"Can I go in now?" the man asked and Hotch nodded.

"That poor kid is going to need all the help he can get," Seaver said once they were alone.

"Prentiss, are you okay?" Hotch asked as he noticed how she was still observing the scene on the other side of the mirror. Her head snapped up in his direction when he spoke her name.

"Yeah, I'm fine… It's just weird, when you sort of know the UnSub, you know?"

Hotch nodded. "It's been an emotional interrogation, for all of us."

At that moment Sheriff Higgins walked in with a long sigh. "I must say I ain't ever seen anything quite like this. Thank you all again for your help, I've learned a lot from you," he said as he shook Hotch's, then Seaver's hand. "When do you agents leave? If you're not in too much of a hurry, my wife and I would like to repay you with some food at the house. What do you say? The invitation extends to you too, Emy, of course."

Hotch looked at his watch. 9:30pm. It was getting late, but he was still hoping to have some kind of conversation with Prentiss. Plus he hadn't called in the chopper that would take them to the airport yet, so he still had some leeway as to when to schedule their flight.

Hotch looked at Seaver, who looked hopeful. "I think we could definitely use a good meal and good company," Hotch replied as he exchanged a careful look with Prentiss. She glanced down almost right away, but her lips turned a little upward.

"How about you Emy?" the sheriff asked.

"Of course, you know I can never say no to Martha's cooking," she replied with a grin, and Hotch found himself relieved at her acceptance.

"I do have a few phone calls to make before I leave," Hotch added.

"Of course, I have a few things to finish up here, as well," Higgins replied as he pointed to the interrogation room. But you don't have to wait for me, whenever you're ready, just go on ahead and I'll catch up with you. Emy can show you the way if you don't remember. Martha'll be expecting you."

"Thank you," Hotch replied sincerely.

Over the next half-hour or so, Hotch called Morgan to let him know that their case was solved. He was happy to learn that things were going well on their end as well, as they were just about ready to tie up some loose ends and close the case. Hotch suggested they all get a good night's sleep and make the jet pick him and Seaver up in the morning on the team's way back to DC. Then he called home to talk to Jack for a few minutes, it was late, but he was just checking in and making sure his son heard his voice before he went to bed for the night.

With the logistics taken care of, he met back with Seaver and Prentiss, who had been talking quietly in the observation room. The only room that wasn't potentially secured with a camera.

All three of them left at the same time, though in their respective cars and once on the lane, Hotch parked in Prentiss' driveway so that they could all arrive at the same time. Martha Higgins greeted them with the same hospitality as she had the day before, and it's only when the smell of food reached Hotch's nostrils that he realized how hungry he really was.

The sheriff joined them not too long after. They were all much more relaxed now that the case was solved and Hotch actually had a good time at dinner. He hadn't socialized outside of his team much lately, and he found himself thoroughly enjoying the company, except that Prentiss was still not quite herself. Though still her charming, witty self, she was acting much more subdued than he knew her to be. His suspicion that this wasn't part of her Emmeline act was confirmed when Martha Higgins commented on it at one point. Prentiss only smiled and said she was tired, but her subsequent glance in his direction told him more than she'd probably wanted to admit: she was still uneasy with his presence. She was still forcing herself to keep her distance. Though he understood her reasons, it drove Hotch a little crazy. He spent most of the meal trying to figure out a way to talk to her alone without raising too many eyebrows.

An opportunity presented itself when she mentioned taking her dog out for a quick walk before dessert.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Hotch asked, "I don't want to impose, but it's been a long day and I could use some fresh air."

"Yeah, sure," she replied noncommittally as she put on her jacket, but she wouldn't quite meet his eyes. "We'll be back in a few minutes, guys," she added for the others' benefit.

"Take your time, kids," Martha said and Hotch could swear he saw Prentiss roll her eyes.

They walked out into the damp and cool night, their breath coming out in small puffs, and Hotch put his hands into his fleece pockets to keep them warm. It was dark, but Prentiss had grabbed a flashlight on her way out – apparently she was accustomed to making the trip from her house to the Higgins'. Though Hotch had many questions, he wasn't quite sure where to start, so they walked in heavy silence for a while.

When they were about halfway there, he suddenly stopped walking and Prentiss imitated him after a couple of steps, after she realized he wasn't next to her anymore. She turned back to him, her expression a little curious, but if he read her correctly in the dark, a little dreading as well.

His eyes searching her face, he held her gaze when she finally met his. "It's been hard since you've left," he admitted gravely.

She gasped in surprise, then shook her head warningly. "Hotch, don't. Just don't." She started walking again.

He quickly caught up with her, but he had to increase his pace to keep up with her. "_But_," he continued resolutely as they practically ran, "I know that it's been even harder for you. Prentiss!" he stopped her with his fingers around her arm.

"What?" she replied angrily as she turned to him, her jaw set and eyes suspiciously shiny, but she didn't snatch her arm away.

Hotch sighed. This wasn't going well. He went for another tactic. "What's your plan?" he asked as he let go of her arm.

She frowned in confusion, but her expression was still hurt. "My plan?"

"About Doyle. Surely you intend to get your life back?"

She shook her head sadly and started walking again. "I need to get my dog before she pees in the house."

Hotch didn't follow her this time. "Do you really plan on not even trying? Emily what are you doing? A house, a dog?" he asked. "From where I'm standing it sure looks like you've given up!" he accused, hoping to get enough of a rise out of her to make her at least answer his question. He had to know if after tomorrow she would be gone from his life forever or if he was allowed to hope to see her again.

She stopped and turned around wearily, her palm going to her forehead. "Damn it Hotch," she sighed painfully, her eyes closed, and Hotch at last got a glimpse of the expressive Emily Prentiss he knew. He had glimpsed her briefly when they had first reunited in the county police station, but since then she had been wearing a mask of indifference that had been extremely painful to watch.

But now she was back, and apparently heartbroken.

Hotch softened his gaze at her expression, but remained where he was.

When she looked at him again it was with such sadness that he had to put his hands back into his pockets to keep them from reaching out for her. Instead he intensified his gaze on her. "How are you doing, really?"

She let out a brief and derisive huffing sound. "What do you think?"

"I know it's hard, it's been hard for all of us," he repeated his earlier words. "But I need to know that you're really okay. And that you intend on coming back to us."

She must have heard the emotion in his voice, despite his best attempt at keeping his tone neutral, because her defensive expression turned softer, if not sadder. But it was definitely more honest.

"I'm fighting really hard right now to keep my head above water," she admitted, a little warningly, her voice cracking.

Hotch nodded, his heart hitting his toes at her admission, and he walked closer, stopping a couple of feet before her even though he longed to offer her some sort of comfort. "I know. But you still haven't answered my question about what you're going to do about Doyle."

She looked down again, shaking her head slightly. "I hope I can do it, Hotch. There's nothing else I want more. You know that."

"But?"

She sniffed as her head came back up, but no tear had escaped from her eyes. She started walking again, though more slowly than before. Hotch fell in step with her quietly. "But I'm exhausted!" she blurted out in a cry, her arms falling loosely at her side and this time she used her palm to swipe moisture from her eyes. "I've been _so_ exhausted for months now," she continued, now sounding annoyed with herself, "and I doubt whether I'll ever be ready for that fight again."

Hotch considered this for a second. He knew what kind of exhaustion she was talking about, and it wasn't physical. While it must have taken some time to physically recover from her surgery, he knew that what she was talking about here was emotional and psychological weariness. Over the last few months, she'd had to start over a new life, all the while preparing herself for the right moment to give it up again. The constant tug-o-war between her desire to move on and belong in this town and her desire for revenge must have been exhausting to bear, especially since she'd had to bear it alone. Since she had _chosen_ to do it alone. And there had been her mistake.

"Prentiss, you don't have to do this alone," he reminded her. "You know that you only need to say the word and I, and Dave, and Morgan, and Reid, and Garcia, and even Seaver, we'll all be ready to fight alongside you. Tell me you know that!"

She made a sound that was half chuckle, half sob, and Hotch almost staggered back when she spun around and let herself fall against him, her arms going around his neck in a heartfelt hug. It took a couple of seconds before he snapped out of his surprise and put his arms around her, a little awkwardly at first, but then pulling her a little closer. "Thank you," she gasped against his shoulder.

She relaxed a little in his arms and Hotch found himself relishing in this simple pleasure. How long had it been since he'd held a woman in his arms? Much too long.

He allowed himself to indulge in offering the comfort she seemed to need for a few more seconds, just holding her in silence.

"Come on, let's get your dog," he said after a while as he let his arms slide away.

She let out a brief chuckle that sounded almost like a sob again as she stepped back and resumed walking. Hotch let her take the lead and he followed her the rest of the way to her house in silence, allowing them both some time to regain some composure. Such a display of affection was novel in the history of their relationship, for both of them, and Hotch needed a little time for the surprise to pass. And by the way she wasn't quite meeting his eyes, she felt the same way.

He smiled a little at the dog's happy antics when it saw Emily walk into the house, wagging its non-existent tail excitedly. Emily grabbed the leash from the hook, but didn't tie it onto the dog's collar, instead keeping it in her hand. They walked out again, this time with the canine addition to their party of two. They walked in silence for a while, though it was a bit more relaxed than before.

"Can I ask you something?"

"How's Jack?" they both spoke at the same time after a moment, making her chuckle and him smile a little.

"Sorry, Jack's doing great. Thanks for asking," Hotch replied with a fond smile. "He's just started school."

"Wow, already?" she shook her head incredulously.

Hotch nodded his reply, then after a moment spoke again. "Would you like to hear how the others are doing?"

She let out a small puff of air as she shook her head. "You must think me cold for not asking in the first place. But as much as I long to hear about them, I don't think I can."

"I understand."

She threw him a look. "Do you really?"

"Self-preservation."

She smiled. "Right. How could I forget I'm talking to a profiler? I guess I'm not used to it anymore."

"Don't overestimate my abilities where you're concerned, Prentiss. You've always been kind of a mystery to me."

She gave him a dubious sidelong look.

He wasn't sure he should say more, but the words had left his mouth before he realized it, and now he had to accept the consequences. "I'm sorry to admit that I've often underestimated you in the past, but you've always managed to rectify me in the most unexpected ways." He furrowed his brow in recollection. "Remember when you quit because of Strauss' blackmail?"

"Yeah," she replied with a grin.

"That was a surprise. And learning that you'd worked for the Agency was just one addition to an already long list of surprises, I have to say."

"I'm sorry you had to learn about it under those circumstances," she said, sounding stricken.

Hotch shook his head. "No need to apologize. I know you did what you had to do to protect yourself."

"And you," she added, echoing her own words to him from a few nights ago.

"And us," Hotch agreed with a smile.

They had now reached the Higgins' home once more, and Prentiss stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading to the porch, meeting his eyes.

"When do you guys leave?" she asked.

"In the morning. The jet's going to make a little detour north to pick us up."

She nodded, as if taking this in. "I guess this is it, then, right?" she smiled nervously. "Before we go in, I ah…" she cleared her throat and her eyes darted down briefly before coming back up. "I want to thank you. For sticking up to my story, and for allowing me to help on the case."

Hotch nodded gravely. "Of course."

She nodded quickly and he could tell she was trying not to cry again. This time he initiated it, gently reaching for her hand and pulling her to him for another hug. The thought that he could easily acquire a taste for having her in his arms sprung to mind unbidden, but he quickly dismissed it, instead focusing on how warm and strong she felt against him.

"When you're ready, Prentiss. Just say the word," he said against her hair.

"Yeah, when I'm ready," she agreed against his shoulder.

After a long calming breath against his neck she pulled back, looking him straight in the eyes. "You know, you've always been a mystery to me too," she admitted, and to his utter surprise she quickly touched his cheek with her thumb, then spinning around she ran up the stairs, her dog on her heels. Hotch could only stare after her for a moment, still a little stunned by the feeling of her cool fingers against his jaw. Had he imagined it? No, he could still feel it, it had tingled down his spine.

Forcing himself to get a grip, he finally followed her back into the house, and while he found himself wanting do to nothing but stare at her to figure her out, she spent the rest of the night carefully avoiding his inquisitive gaze.

When the time came for Hotch and Seaver to leave, Hotch watched as she warmly shook Seaver's hand as something, a silent conversation, passed between them. In the meantime, Hotch said his goodbyes to the Higginses, again thanking them for their hospitality, while the sheriff replied that _he_ should thank them for their help.

When he turned to Prentiss again, she extended her hand, but she was serious when she met his eyes. "Take care, Agent Hotchner," she said as he took her hand.

"Thank you for your help on the case. You do have a gift for those kinds of things," Hotch added, the teasing going unnoticed by the others.

She snorted, but the sheriff beat her to an answer.

"See, that's what I keep telling her!" he said.

Hotch smiled, then redirected his attention to Prentiss. "In any case, I know you'll get to use it again in the future. Just say the word."

She met his eyes squarely again, raising her chin up a little. "I will, thanks."

Realizing that he was still holding her hand, he let go, then with one last look, he and Seaver exited the house, and Prentiss' life.

Though this time he was hopeful that it wouldn't be for the last time.

The end


End file.
